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Nora Brady’s Vow, 


yf- 


AND 


Mona the Vestal. 


BY 

MRS. ANNA H. DORSEY. 



^ PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
1 8 6 9 . 


Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for tlie 
Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 


4 

SNi 






BRAVE AND UNCONQUERED, BEARING LIKE MARTYRS OPPRESSIONS TO 
'WHICH THEY AVILL NOT SUBMIT AS SLAVES. 

THESE SKETCHES 

OF THE 

LAND OF THEIR BIRTH AND LOVE, ILLUSTRATIVE OF ITS AVRONGS 

AND GLORIES,' 

ARE DEDICATED, 


WITH THE EARNEST PRAYER THAT ER^ THIS GENERATION PASS AWAY, 
IT MAY, UNDER THE FOLDS OF ITS OWN 

“SUNBURST,” 

' TAKE ITS PLACE, REGENERATED AND FREE, AMONG THE 
NATIONS OF THE EARTH. 


THE AUTHOR 



PEEFAOE. 


In the story of “ Mona” we have adhered strictly to historic 
accounts in all that we have written descriptive of the religious, 
intellectual, political, and social status of the ancient Irish. We 
refer our readers to the Abbe McGeoghegan’s “ History of Ireland 
from its Fabulous and Mythological Times, down to the Year 
1798,” for the correctness of our descriptions.* 

Our story opens at that interesting epoch in Irish history when 
Patricius,f commissioned by Pope Celestine as Ambassador to the 
Court of Tara, and invested with the order of the Patricii^ which 
was next in honor to the Imperial dignity, landed on the banks 
of the Boyne, and confronted the Druids and their false creed in 
the presence of the Estates of Tara ; preaching with such courage 
and unction of “Christ and Him crucified,” in the halls of Te- 
mora, and on the plains of Magh-Breagh, in the very presence 
of the idolatries of Baal, that many accepted the Christian faith, 
and the seed was planted which led to a rapid extinction of a 
dark and cruel mythology. 

Ancient customs, religious and civil, are illustrated in the dra- 
matis personae of the story; Mona herself being a Vestal of Herf 
Naom — the Moon. 

At this period Ireland, under the Druidical system, — much of it 
borrowed from Egypt, from Etruria, and Persia, — was the seat 
of learning, literature, science, and the arts, and was considered 
the great school of Western Europe, to which kings and nobles 
sent their sons to be instructed, by the Druids and Bards, in the 
rules of learning, jurisprudence, science, and war. 

England had been conquered by the Eomans, and her people 


* Also Mooney’s and Carey’s Histories of Ireland, 
f So named from the Roman order of the Patricii. 

l* (V) 


VI 


PREFACE. 


wore in fact tlie slaves of Kome; and while Ireland was basking 
in the zenith of national prosperity and civilization, they were 
living in all the ruggedness of untutored nature, dressing in 
skins, painting their half-naked bodies, living in caves or mud 
huts, and dependent for subsistence upon the primitive arts of 
hunting and fishing, and, like other uncivilized peoples, engaged 
in frequent warfare with each other. 

There are many who are ignorant of the fact that Ireland has a 
history except as a dependency of England : to such we commend 
the Abbe MoGeoghegan’s valuable work, that they may learn 
from it all that Ireland was, — that the sneer may die from their 
lips when they learn all that she has lost through the treachery of a 
base king and the cruel and oppressive legislation of a haughty 
and intolerant government, and wonder, as they read, that free- 
dom has survived, with all its divine instincts, in the hearts of her 
brave and unconquered sons. 

The writer hopes, more from her subject than from any excel- 
lence of style, that some popular interest may be awakened by 
the story of “ Mona.’^ 

“ Nora Brady's Yow” will commend itself, we hope, to the 
reader by the truthfulness of its delineations, and as illustrative 
of incidents of the same character, which are not of unfrequent 
occurrence among us. The devotion and generosity of the Irish- 
women who live in our midst, to friends and kindred at home,* 
have not only excited wonder and admiration on this side of the 
Atlantic, but were considered of sufficient importance to be made 
the subject of some statistical remarks in the British Parliament 
a year or so ago. 

Nora Brady is not a fictitious character, although the name is 
an assumed one ; and as we have thrown her virtuous and gener- 
ous acts together for the sake of vindicating and doing honor to 
her countrywomen in the United States, we are sure that she 
will forgive us for “putting her into a book." 


Ireland, which they always speak of as “ home.’ 


CONTENTS OF NORA BRADY’S VOW. 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

Motto. — “W e’re men, — as such, should know our rights”... 9 
CHAPTER II. 

“ “Oh, the moment was sad when my love and I 

parted” 19 

CHAPTER III. 

“ “What? Thundering to he heard. Old Land?”... 32 

CHAPTER IV. 

“ “But alas for his country ! — ^her pride is gone by” 41 

CHAPTER Y. 

“ “ But now, too great for fetters grown” 52 

CHAPTER VI. 

“ “I’m biddin’ you a long farewell” 70 

CHAPTER YII. 

“ “Her heart with love teeming” 83 

CHAPTER YIII. 

“ “ Sweet it would he once more to see” 102 

CHAPTER IX. 

“ “Oh, blessed be that warning” 113 

CHAPTER X. 

“ “ Pain’s furnace-heat within me quivers” 130 

CHAPTER XI. 

Conclusion 148 

( vii ) 


CONTENTS 

OF MONA THE VESTAL. 


CHAPTER I. 

PAOE 


Motto. — “ Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime ”... 163 


The Temple 

CHAPTER II. 

171 

Semo 

CHAPTER III. 

181 

Mona 

CHAPTER IV. 

189 


CHAPTEK V. 

The Altar at Midnight 199 

CHAPTER VI. 


The Vestal of Christ. 

210 

Tara 

CHAPTER VII. 

221 

The Baal-fire 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Patricius 

CHAPTER IX. 

Dairene 

CHAPTER X. . 

Panthea the Slave .... 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Lover 

CHAPTER XII. 

For Christ ! 

CHAPTER XIII. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Heaven receives its Vestal 314 

( ) 


NORA BRADY’S VOW 


CHAPTER I. 

"We’re men, — as such, should know our rights, and knowing should de- 
fend; 

Who would be free themselves must dare the tyrant’s chain to rend; 

Ah ! fruitless is the grief that springs above a nation’s fears, — 

One firm resolve of mighty men is worth a sea of tears.” 

Songs of the Nation. 

A SUNSET of unusual beauty, and a few bright tints still 
lingering on the edges of many a drifting cloud, diffused 
a peculiar and transparent clearness in the atmosphere, 
and threw out, on the smooth waters of the Suire, suc- 
cessive images of picturesque scenery. Rocks, trees, and 
overhanging banks, touched here with light and softened 
there with shadow, with traceries of tangled shrubbery 
running through it all, were pictured forth with rare and 
beautiful fidelity ; but beyond these fell a sterner gloom, 
and more solemn shadows, which seemed to chill the very 
waves in whose calm depths they slumbered like wild and 
sorrowful dreams in some living human heart. There 
was a ruin on that shore, a ruin of old, whose gray walls, 
majestic tower, and mildewed arches had for centuries 
past stood like a hoary prophet beside those waves, to re- 
mind the living of their faded glories, and incite them to 
a future which should repair, the sorrows and losses of 
the past. And now, as the soft twilight slowly gathered 

( 9 ) 


10 


NORA BRADTS VOW, 


around the old Abbey of Holy-Cross-by-the-Suire, it only 
required a vivid imagination to people that quiet solitude 
with its by-gone inmates. The swift flitting of bats 
through its pillared arcades, the sad cry of the bittern 
brooding in the rank grass below, and the faint rustling 
of the ivy clinging to the ruined walls, when blended 
with the long-ago memories and legends haunting the 
spot, made a language expressive enough for any lover 
of the ideal to work his spells with, and drape cloisters 
and shrines with their ancient splendors, and crowd those 
broad aisles once more with saint-like processions or pros- 
trate forms. Erected by the piety and munificence of 
Donald O’Brien, King of Limerick, in the year 1169, the 
magnificence of its architecture made it a fane worthy of 
the sacred shrine which inclosed a relic of the True 
Cross incased in a reliquary of gold and jewels of inesti- 
mable value, and presented by Pope Paschal II. to 
McMorrogh the predecessor of Donald. Its magnificent 
altars, dedicated to the Holy Cross, to St. Mary, and St. 
Benedict, were famed throughout the land, not only for 
the splendor which surrounded them, but for the multitude 
and devotion of the worshipers and pilgrims who con- 
tinually thronged thither ; while the austerity and holiness 
of the monks who, holding the Cistercian rule, filled its 
cloisters, rendered it one of the most celebrated and sacred 
monastic establishments in Ireland. But, like incense 
exhaled from precious flowers, those souls which through 
succeeding centuries glorified God in their works of holi- 
ness and purity, were now fled ; the feet of the spoiler 
had trampled over the place, and unholy hands had dese- 
crated and ruined the shrines ; the earth, rich in the dust 
of bodies which had consecrated themselves to God, was 
torn up and scattered, in search of perishable treasures ; 
the magnificence of architecture, the costliness and charm 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


11 


of rare sculptured marbles, the rich and gorgeous staiued 
glass of the windows, were all defaced — broken — ruined. 
And there it stands at this late day, to tell its own tale 
of woe, appealing to the Lord of Hosts for justice and 
vengeance on an iniquitous and oppressive system which 
for centuries has tortured His Spouse the Church with 
fetters and disfigured her robes with the rust and tears of 
oppression. 

The moon now risen poured down a flood of light into 
the broad nave, slanting her silver beams on the long 
rows of pillars, leaving the aisles in darkness and shadow. 
The altar of the Holy Cross stood out conspicuous and 
beautiful in the unclouded radiance. One might almost 
have imagined that the careful old monks had thrown a 
cloth of gold over it, to protect from dampness and dust 
its treasures ; but no, it was only the cold, bright moon- 
light, the faithful witness and tender consoler of its 
silent woes, which still sought to brighten its deep deso- 
lation and throw a beauty around its decay. At a little 
distance were the broken altars of the Virgin Mother and 
St. Benedict, near which stood the royal tomb of the 
O’Brien, with its canopy of marble supported b}^ twisted 
pillars. Here and there the moonbeams lit them up, 
gleaming on a rare tracery, or silvering over some sculp- 
tured arch, touching here a broken shaft, there the 
defaced image of saint or cherub, or rippling down over 
the moss-grown graves like the footprints of the angels 
who watch the dust of those who sleep in the Lord. 

Suddenly the silence was broken by a slow footstep, 
and a man, old and gray, entered the ruin. Arrested by 
the exquisite and mournful beauty of the scene, he stood a 
moment, leaning on his staff, to survey it ; then, reverently 
uncovering his head, he knelt, and, folding his hands over 
his bosom in the form of a cross, appeared to pray de- 


12 


NORA BRADTS VOW, 


voutlj. We cannot say for what or whom he prayed It 
may have been for the repose of those who slept in peace 
around him ; it may have been for some living tempted 
soul ; or it may have been for his country, for troublous 
times again threatened it, and well he knew, that aged 
priest, that one, nor two, nor thousands of victims could 
close or fill the awful gulf which unsuccessful outbreaks 
always opened. 

Ere long the clatter of horses^ hoofs was heard on the 
bridge which spanned the Suire, and soon issuing from 
the shadow and galloping along the shore, the horseman 
urged his steed up toward the ruins, where suddenly 
halting, he lifted his cap from his head, and, wiping the 
moisture from his brow, he threw back the thick cluster- 
ing locks that fell over it. 

''Old Holy Cross he murmured, "your gray ruins 
have not been vain teachers, and once more must I visit 
that tomb and shrine which first awoke my fairest dreams 
for the regeneration and freedom of this dear land. — It 
may be the last time I shall ever look on ye, old relics of 
the days that are gone ; but if I fall in this struggle, let 
me hope, O Heaven ! that the blood which shall be poured 
out like water, in defense of man’s holiest rights, may 
nurture into full strength and maturity the roots of that 
glorious tree whose leaves shall sweeten the bitter waters 
of the woes of my country.” There was a tone of deep 
feeling in his voice, and an earnest enthusiasm in every 
gesture, as he turned in under the arches of the old abbey, 
which indicated in his nature the elements of heroic 
courage, and a spirit which would glory in martyrdom. 

When he saw the kneeling figure of the priest, he 
started, then drew back in the shadow of a pillar, where 
he stood like some gray statue, gazing thoughtfully on 
the scene. But presently the aged man finished his 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


13 


prayer ; he made the sign of the cross on his breast, 
and, bowing his head reverently for an instant, in honor 
of the Majesty who once dwelt there, he turned to leave 
the abbey, when the other stepped forward, and, lay- 
ing his hand with affectionate freedom on his shoulder, 
said, — 

Father McCarthy, I did not expect to find you here 
“ JohnHalloran I” said the priest, starting. I am glad 
to meet you. I have had you in mind this live-long day, 
and have just come down from Glendariff, where I went 
to seek you. Ease my heart at once by saying that you 
have abandoned the wild and ruinous scheme — the hope- 
less plan that we have spoken of before. 

Father, 1 am sorry we have met, if the old dispute is 
to begin, — the old and useless dispute. Shame on the 
clergy of Ireland, who oppose this daring effort for the 
freedom of their flocks and their altars, and lend their 
influence and hand to the oppressor !” exclaimed the 
young man, angrily. 

Thou, God, knowest how baseless is the charge,’’ said 
the priest, baring his gray locks, and lifting his hands 
and eyes toward heaven, as if appealing against such un- 
merited injustice. “ Thou knowest how we have stood 
for long, sorrowful years between the porch and the 
altar, bowed down with the woes of the land, and leading 
the people through the wilderness toward the place of 
promise. But the people sin by disobedience and revolt; 
they wait not for the harvest, but pluck the unripe fruits 
and suffer ; they wait not God’s time and God’s holy will, 
and long bitter years are added to their exile. John Hal- 
loran, I am old — more than seventy years have rolled over 
my head. I have in that time seen much of men, and I 
have watched, like an eagle from his eyrie, for the day- 
dawn ; but I tell you I see it not yet. These revolts — 

2 


14 


NORA BRADY'S VOW, 


these volcanic eruptions of a few burning hearts, which 
at best only leave their ashes to their country — these 
uncertain, irresponsive insurrections, which never assume 
the dignity of revolutions, only rivet the chains more 
firmly, and put off the day of deliverance into the dim and 
distant future.” 

Now, father, what is the use — what is the use of all 
this ? Age and misfortune have cooled your blood and 
patriotism together, and, near the grave, you have but 
small care for a future which will roll over your ashes. 
Oh, my father!” exclaimed John Halloran, with deep 
pathos, ^‘does not the scene around soften your heart? 

“ Of these ruins I will not speak ; but of yonder wretched 
cabins, thrown together from their fragments, and which 
scarcely afford a miserable shelter for the human beings 
who occupy them, of the want and desolation which sur- 
'Tound them, I must and will speak. Their wretched 
inmates, possessed of the dignity of immortal souls, are 
reduced by the system which oppresses them to a level 
with the beasts. Where is their activity — where their 
energy ? Crushed out of their lives by a knowledge of the 
utter inadequacy of their labor, and the hopelessness of 
their condition. 

‘‘ They have lost almost the noble image of man. Their 
gaunt, athletic frames are meager and fleshless — their 
color livid — their features sharpened — while their coun- 
tenances express the habitual influence of strong, deep 
passions. Where is the quick intelligence, which only 
flashes out now and then mingled with the lurking sly- 
ness of distrust? Where are the thrift, the industry, the 
plenty, which should be theirs ? Ask the tithe-gatherers, 
the tax-collectors, the drivers, who, like locusts, devour 
their substance. The very children are want-stricken and 
badly clad, while the loveliness of their age is disfigured 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


15 


by squalid poverty and the drapery of extreme want; they 
are idle and joyless, and loiter about the cabin- door with- 
out an aim, while the father, perchance, has gone to seek 
employment in the English harvest-fields where his hire 
is paid with a smile of derision, and he is expected to ex- 
cite laughter by his blunders, who might well command 
tears by his wretchedness * And these are your children 
— these are the miserable ones to whom you would have 
us deny succor! Is it only in this poor hamlet that such 
things are seen blotting the face of nature? No, oh my 
God ! over all the land the same dismal spectacle is seen : 
from every cabin is heard the wail of anguish, and 
wherever thrift and plenty smile, it is for those foreign 
leeches who add to our burdens and have no right to a 
foothold on our soil. And can we rest? Must we rest? 
Shall we desist? No, rather let us perish!” exclaimed 
the almost frantic man. • 

John Halloran,” said the aged priest, whose bowed 
form trembled with an emotion he could scarcely control, 
^Hhink you that these things move you and leave me un- 
scathed ? I declare solemnly before Heayen that, had I 
a thousand lives, I would lay each life down to be 
trampled out by separate and distinct tortures, if by the 
sacrifice this dear land of my birth could be delivered. 
But I am a powerless old man, who can only pray and 
plead; and it wrings my very soul to see energies thrown 
away — worse than wasted — which, at the right time, 
might ^vork wondrous changes; to know how men whom 
I honor for their worth and unselfishness will fall in the 
unequal strife without even the honor of a soldier’s grave; 
and how others, the noble descendants of the McCarthy 
More, the O’Brien, the O’Donoghue, and the O’Neill, will 


^ Lady Morgan. 


16 


NORA BRADY'S VOW. 


be hunted like felons to suffer a felon’s doom. I know ye 
all, John Halloran. Some are my own kinsmen, some of 
my flock, and yet, woe’s me, I can neither stay their mad- 
ness nor arrest their folly ” 

Father !” said the young man, suddenly interrupting 
him, while a bright smile burst over his countenance, 
“ ere ten days are over, you will sing Te Deum in your 
mountain chapel for the deliverance of Ireland. The mo- 
ment the first blow is struck, the whole country will fly 
to arms, and our oppressors, unprepared for the overpow- 
ering crisis, will be scattered like chaff on the whirlwind. 
Brian Boroihme and Malachi the brave will be our rally- 
ing-words, and, after a few decisive struggles, our land 
will be all our own. We shall have once more our own 
laws, our own parliament, our own rulers. The old 
names will be honored in the land. The Church will lift 
her head free and rejoicing; and the great possessions, 
wrested from the old princely sons of the soil by the 
virgin Queen Elizabeth, by the Jameses, and by that 
devil’s own psalm-singer, Cromwell, will be restored to 
their descendants ” 

“ Halloran,” interrupted Father McCarthy, your 
dream is the one which has haunted me for years ; but, 
alas I it is only the gleam of a meteor, the splendor of a 
rainbow, which fades while we gaze on it. Would to 
God your sanguine hopes were based on surer founda- 
tions I but, alas I boy, the means of the foes against 
which you contend are almost omniscient. While you 
plot, they counter-plot ; while you scheme, they under- 
mine; and already, by the aid of base informers, the chief 
leaders of this rebellion* are marked, and predestined to 
ignominy and death. It will only be the re-enactment 


^ Rebellion of ^48. 


NORA BRADY'S VOW, 


n 


of the tragedy of ^98. But I will say no more, except 
this; and listen well, John Halloran, for I am going to 
knock roughly against the doors of your heart ; and if 
this consideration which I offer fails^ then God help you ; 
I will say no more. Up yonder, at Glendarilf, is a meek 
and loving woman, whose cheeks have become worn and 
thin with watching, and with the anxieties to which the 
continual perils of her husband give birth. She sits now 
beside two weeping children, who divide her love and 
hopes with their absent father. A few months ago, Glen- 
dariff was the abode of happiness and peace ; now it is 
the retreat of fear and sorrow. Who is this mother? who 
this wife ? She belongs to one of the old princely septs 
of the land. She was the sunshine and flower of her old 
feudal home, and her hand was destined for a rich and 
powerful nobleman, her equal in birth. A splendid future 
was before Mary O’More. But she spurned it all, — rank, 
riches, and splendor,-^to wed with one whose worth 
alone was his nobility, and whose riches consisted of the 
old farm-house and the few acres where his forefathers 
had toiled generations before him. John Halloran, ymi 
know whom I mean ! Have you a right to drag down that 
high-born, gentle woman into poverty, and, at the best, 
exile, — to impoverish the children she has borne you, and 
fix the name of felon^s brood on them 

^‘Even that I do dare,” said John Halloran, in a calm, 
stern voice; “that — all — everything for the sacred cause 
of my country. I am one of the people. I glory in having 
sprung from them, and I, John Halloran, will deliver 
them, or die. Life — soul — wife — children — and home !” 
he exclaimed, striking the ruined altar by which he stood 
with his clinched fist. “ Let me only strike a blow for 
Ireland, let me be remembered among her deliverers, 
and I would not barter the title it will give me for an 

2 * 


18 


NORA BRADY'S VOW. 


imperial diadem, or the most ancient birthright that the 
archives of time could bestow. My poor Mary! My 
sweet, saint like wife 1 That was a tender chord for you 
to crash down so rudely on, my father. May the Blessed 
Mother of God succor and defend her and her babes, he 
said, in a low, trembling voice. But I must hasten 
home. You mean well, my father, but you are behind 
the times. One grasp of the hand, and your blessing, 
ere I go.^’ And he threw himself with a simple abandon 
at the feet of Father McCarthy, adown whose furrowed 
cheeks warm tears were fast falling. 

“ My child,’’ he said, in a broken voice, while he laid 
his hand on the head of the kneeling man, '‘perchance 
we shall never meet again on earth. Our meeting to- 
night is not one of chance. You are engaged in a perilous 
enterprise, and, to my certain knowledge, will pass a ter- 
rible crisis in a few days. Let not, then, this hour go 
by unimproved, but, at the sacred tribunal of penance, 
make peace between your soul and God. Here, beneath 
the solemn heavens, above the dust of the holy dead, give 
me power, by performing sacramental penance with an 
humble and contrite heart, to absolve you from the guilt 
of sin, if perchance your conscience is burdened and 
sore.” 

The appeal was not in vain. It was enough. Like a 
child, simple yet strong in his faith, the noble but mis- 
taken man, kneeling by the side of the venerable priest of 
God, who sat on a broken tomb, poured out in whispered 
words the sincere and earnest confession of his soul. Thus 
alone in that old ruin, watched over and guarded by un- 
seen angels, we leave them, and wend our way to Glen- 
dariff, the home of John Halloran. 


CHAPTER II. 


Oh, the moment was sad when my love and I parted : 

Savourneen Deelish, Eileen Ogge; 

As I kissed oflf her tears, I was nigh broken-hearted : 

Savourneen Deelish, Eileen Ogge : 

Wan was her cheek, which hung on my shoulder; 
Damp was her hand : no marble was colder; 

I felt in my heart I should ne’er more behold her : 
Savourneen Deelish, Eileen Ogge. 


Mary Halloran, whose mind had been unusually 
disturbed that day by vague apprehensions, grew more 
and more uneasy as the hours wore on, and wandered 
out to station herself on the side of what, at Glendariff, 
was called the Sunset Hill,’^ to watch for the return 
of her husband. But the brightness faded from the 
sky, twilight deepened into gloom, and soon the chilly 
night and the pale moonlight, which threw grotesque, 
weird-looking shadows around her, warned her in. “I 
cannot rest,^^ she murmured, with a deep sigh: ^‘this 
veiled sorrow pursues me everywhere. Oh, why does 
not John come? While he is near me, the dread and 
terror stand aloof; when he is absent, they haunt and 
scourge me.’’ She lingered a few moments at the door, 
listening intently for the well-known sound of his horse’s 
hoofs on the gravel. But all was silent; and, turning 
away with a shudder, she entered the house, and, with 
slow, heavy steps, went up into the children’s room to 
seek some solace in their smiles and caresses. But the 
litfle ones were asleep in their cribs, and, leaning over, 

( 19 ) 


20 


NORA BRADY'S VOW, 


her tears fell heavy and fast on the golden curls and fair 
cheeks of Gracie ; but when she gazed down on the fine 
manly face of her boy Desmond, over whose crimson 
cheeks dark locks of curling hair had strayed, and saw 
the haughty brow and firm, well-set lips, her tears ceased, 
and, folding her hands together, she whispered, “ God 
help thee, boy I thy battles will be strong and bitter with 
life; they may break, but never bend thee.’^ Then she 
felt, as she watched the hol}^ calm that overspread their 
features, and knew how dark and stormy was all before 
them, a wish, half defined, — almost a pra3^er, — that each 
little soul, ere day-dawn, could be housed in heaven. 
She kissed them softly, and, bidding Ellen shade the 
light from their eyes, went down into the drawing-room, 
that she might hear the first sound of her husband’s 
footfall when he entered. There was a large oriel win- 
dow opening down to the lawn, — the only modern 
addition John Halloran had made to his house when he 
came of age, — from whence she had always been accus- 
tomed, since their marriage, to watch his approach up 
the road leading to Glendariff. She drew back the heavy 
curtains, and looked out long and anxiously ; but all was 
lonely and silent, the very shrubs, on which the moon- 
beams had woven a tissue of silver, being motionless. 
The heavy drapery fell from the grasp of her slender 
fingers, and, with an aching heart, she went away, and 
threw herself with an exhausted air into a low cushioned 
chair near the fire. 

A door opened noiselessly, and a light footstep entered. 
Mrs. Halloran turned her head quickly, hoping it n^ght be 
her husband. y 

Oh, is it you, Nora?’’ she said. 

^^Yes, ma’am; I came in to see if you would have 
lights.” 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


21 


Oh, Nora, I am so uneasy about Mr. Halloran. No — 
no — no ; do not bring in the lights yet,” she said, in an 
agitated tone. 

It’s a cup of tea would set you up, ma’am ; let me 
fetch in the tray.” 

“No, dear ; not until Mr. Halloran comes,” she replied. 

Nora stood a moment looking at the fragile form and 
pale countenance of Mrs. Halloran, which seemed whiter 
and more sunken in the fitful fire-light, surrounded as it 
was by the dark-crimson cushions against which she 
leaned, and an expression of bitter sorrow flitted over the 
girl’s handsome face, while a tear stole silently down from 
the black fringes of her eyes, and fell unheeded. Then 
she closed the door very softly, and went back to the 
kitchen, muttering, “ It’s no use to deny it, but it’s an 
evil heart would put the mildew and tear on such a deli- 
cate flower as that, sure. So much for puttin’ new wine 
in ould bottles. Let everybody mate with their equals, 
high as well as low.” Then she gathered up her work 
and took her seat beside the cheerful fire, with an attempt 
to look cheerful and unconcerned, and a few efibrts to sing 
blithely, which were sadder than the bitterest tears would 
have been. The door of the spacious, cheerful kitchen, 
where Nora reigned supreme, was thrown open, and a 
broad stream of light flowed out on the sward and shrub- 
bery, setting them all aglow, as if a red sunset were 
gleaming over GlendarifT. The brick floor was sanded 
in fantastic patterns, and the dressers literally glittered 
with the well-scoured pewter and copper utensils that 
covered them. Here and there hung a colored print, 
neatly framed in carved bog-wood, of the “Annuncia- 
tion,” “St. Agnes,” and “St. John the Evangelist,” over 
which were arranged tastefully sprigs of holly and fern. 
On a little shelf, apart, reposed a handsome prayer-book, 


22 


NORA BRADY'S VOW, 


and a rosary of coral and silver, her last year’s Christmas- 
gift from Mrs. Halloran, and of which she was specially 
proud. 

Nora was a fine specimen of her class. Above the 
middle height, handsome and well formed, everything 
about her expressed an innate pride of character and a 
high degree of self-respect. She had been the plaything 
and playmate of Mrs. Halloran when they were both 
children at Fada-Brae Abbey; and, as Mary O’More 
would never study unless Nora Brady had lessons also, 
Mrs. O’More, to secure her daughter’s attention, and 
also to benefit the girl, of whom she was fond, directed 
the governess to indulge her daughter’s affectionate whim, 
until she was sent to France to finish her education. Thus 
commenced the affection between the nobly-born Mary 
O’More and Nora Brady. Widely separated by rank, 
yet loving and grateful, they continued to serve each 
other in their respective spheres until a mutual depend- 
ence was established, which developed many a noble and 
beautiful trait in each. 

Nora’s service was light enough, and one which she 
preferred to any other situation at Glendariff, as in it she 
enjoyed all the benefits of an active life and could con- 
tribute very essentially to the comfort of those she served. 
Nora’s kitchen was her parlor, reception, and sitting-room, 
and its neatness was a marvel to all who were privileged 
to enter it ; for let it not be supposed that the drudgery 
and cooking for the people employed at Glendariff were 
performed here. There was another building, apart from 
the mansion, where all this was done, and where sub- 
stantial comfort prevailed ; for it was one of the cares of 
John Halloran’s life to attend to the well-being of every 
living thing connected with him, and he was rewarded 
by increased prosperity and a cheerful service which 


NORA BRADTS VOW, 


23 


was becomiDg rare and uncertain in the down-trodden 
country. 

Nora’s song gradually ceased, and a deep, thoughtful 
expression settled on her countenance. Occasionally she 
went to the door and looked anxiously down the path, 
but returned each time with a disappointed look to her 
chair. The red in her cheeks grew deeper, and something 
like a frown gathered on the smooth, white forehead of 
Nora, as, giving her head a toss, she broke out with, — 

It would be a good thing altogether, I believe, if there 
wasn’t a man to be found ; for wherever one is there is^ 
trouble, surely. There’s the mistress, now, with her beau- 
tiful face growing more like a wraith every day, by ray son 
of the great oneasiness that’s on her in respect to the 
meanderings of Mister Halloran, and no one to the fore 
but that Donald Dhu to comfort her, that, in place of 
easing her poor heart, fills it with the afflictions of Job 
hisself, that’s got a leer in the bad eyes of him, enough to 
pizen a witch. Then, on the back of that, as if it wasn’t 
enough to put a decent girl demented, here comes that 
ommadawn from Kildare, laving his forge, and the hoofs 
that wouldn’t be amiss if they give him a kick or two, to 
persuade me, by troth, to marry him, and butthering me 
up about his new lease and the fine cow. But I wonH 
— if he’s got a lease for five hundred years on the ould 
place, and ten cows, and ten horses, and twenty sheep 
forenent it. I’ll let the born villain into a saicret, before 
long, that’ll make him hop like a lame duck. But whist I 
It’s an ould saying, if them’s his feet I hear on the gravel, 
that talk of the devil (Lord save us!) and he’s surely at 
hand.” 

“A good-even to you, Nora. I’ve been watching you 
all the way up from the gate, an’ faith it did my heart 
good to see you looking so happy like, an’ the red light 


24 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


shining about you asthore, as it will some better day in 
glory,’’ said a weary- sounding voice at the door. 

^^Come in, Dennis Byrne, and don’t stand there jabber- 
ing at the door-sill to disturb Mrs. Halloran,” she replied, 
without looking up, although she was half tempted to do 
so, and was ready to burst into tears ; for there was some- 
thing so unusually sad in Dennis Byrne’s voice, that she 
felt at once that something had happened. 

'‘It’s a poor welcome you give me, Nora, after a heavy 
day’s work, an’ a sore tramp from Kildare,” he said, still 
leaning against the door. 

" Come in and rest yourself. No one hinders you,” was 
her ungracious reply. 

" You saw the sogers go past to-day ?” he said, taking 
a chair near her. 

" It’s like enough I’d leave my ironing and plaiting 
to run down to the road to stare at sogers I I can’t afford 
to lose the time that some does,” she replied, with a toss 
of her head. 

" S’pose then, bedad, they come thundering up here to 
Glendarifif and ordered you at the point of their bayonets 
to sew a button on every man’s coat of ’em ?” 

"And if they did,” she replied, while her eyes flashed, 
— "if they did, I wouldn’t. I’d try to make some of ’em 
wish they’d never h’ard such a thing as a button was 
invented. But what do you mean, man alive ? You look 
as if you had been dead and buried.” 

" Oh, nothing very particular, only I’ve been shoeing 
horses since ten o’clock this morning, with a cocked pistol 
aimed at my head, and all I got for my pains was curses 
and hard knocks. An’ I’ll tell you, Nora bhan asthore, I 
h’ard somethings said about Glendariff an’ Mister Halloran 
that it would be well enough to make him acquainted 
with.” 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


25 


mighty strange, Dennis, they should talk out 
before you?^^ said Nora, fixing her black eyes with an 
anxious expression on his. 

“ Faitb, then, it^s not so mighty strange, seein’ I never 
let a word of English out. of my jaws, but nonplushed ’em 
with a little Kerry lingo, that set ’em half wild,” he said, 
while a flash of merriment danced over his face. 

“Now tell me, Dennis dear, what it all means,” said 
Nora, laying her hand on his shoulder, while tears gath- 
ered in her eyes. 

“Whist, Nora, ma colleen,” he whispered; “there’s a 
rebellion afoot, an’ Mister Halloran’s one of the chiefs of 
it. And they’re going to station sogers at Glendariff, and 
set spies on him, and take him up to Dublin if they catch 
him.” 

“And what if he’s taken ?” gasped Nora. 

“He’ll be hung or transported.” 

“ Oh, Jesus !” exclaimed Nora, with a cry of bitter an- 
guish. 

“Hist, Nora asthore ! hist! I hear footsteps on the 
gravel.” 

“ The Holy Virgin grant it may be Mister Halloran 1” 
said Nora. “I expect they’ll want lights now, and I’ll 
step in with the candelabra.” The massive silver candela- 
brum, supporting wax candles, stood in a closet all ready. 
She hastily took it out, and, lighting the trimmed and 
oiled wicks, went into the drawing-room with it. She 
soon returned, and, resuming her seat, while a crimson 
flush dyed her cheeks, she said, “No, it’s not Mister Hal- 
loran: it’s that bad, black Donald, that I’ll put some 
throuble on yet, if he don’t keep his dirty hands to his- 
self.” 

“AVhat’s that you’re saying, Nora?” asked Dennis 
Pyrne. 


3 


26 


NORxi BRADTS VOW. 


^‘Nothing — nothing. Mind your own business, Dennis, 
man. I said Mister Halloran has not come yet,’’ she 
replied, bustling over her work-basket. 

So it was. Mrs. Halloran had heard the footsteps, and 
sprang toward the door to meet her husband, but, when 
she saw her dark kinsman, always an unwelcome guest, 
she drew back with a loud cry of disappointment. He 
held out his hand, and said, — 

“ I hope, my lady cousin, I am not intruding.” 

“No, no,” she said, hurriedly; “I only thought it was 
John ” 

“ Halloran out, eh ? I came up to see him on business. 
Do you expect him in soon?” he said, with a dark and 
sinister look. 

“ Every moment. I hope to see him come in every 
instant,” she replied, hurriedly. 

“Yes, I hope so too. The country is in a very troubled 
state, and I believe government is on the alert to arrest 
every one whose conduct is at all suspicious. John is 
the leading man in his district; and the law expects him, 
of course, to keep order among his tenants.” 

“ Of course — yes, of course. John has always endeav- 
ored to keep order among our people. He has made 
them his friends. Cousin Donald, by promoting in every 
way their interests and comfort and morals. I don’t 
think we shall have trouble with our people,” she said, 
anxiously. 

“I hope not. John’s Quaker blood ought to preach 
and plead for peace. By-the-by, Cousin Mary, you know 
I was in France when you got married, and I’m not well 
acquainted with Halloran’s antecedents. What is the 
family history ? There ought to be some legends con- 
nected with an old place like Glendariflf.” 

“There are none,” she said, quietly. “John’s family, 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


as far back as we can trace them, have been Quakers and 
the proprietors of Glendariff. He, you know, is the last 
of his name, and the inheritor of their wealth.’’ 

‘‘But Halloran is a Catholic; that is strange.” 

“Yes, thank God, John is a good and sincere Catholic. 
He became one a few years before our marriage, at Rome.” 

“ Hum — ahem — and you met him ?” 

“ In Dublin. We frequented the same circles ” 

“But — pardon me, my lady cousin, for interrupting you 
again — a rumor came to me over the water that the 
beautiful Mary O’More, the last of the lineal descendants 
of the McCarthy More, was about mating with the Earl 
of Rathlinn, the wealthiest of our Irish peers.” 

“ Mary O’More had enough of the pride of the princes 
of Munster left in her not to mate with a man who, if 
famous for his riches and power, was still more notorious 
for his vices. She preferred the noble and unsullied heart 
she has chosen, who, if he has no rank to boast of, can 
show an ancestry without stain or reproach, whose vir- 
tues he inherits and wdiose fair name he honors,” ex- 
claimed Mrs. Halloran, rousing herself, and speaking 
proudly. 

“ Yes,” drawled Donald, well named the Black, with an 
insufferably supercilious air; “yes, I heard he was a 
clever person. It would be a pity, though ” 

“What would be a pity?” she inquired, haughtily. 

“ It would be a great pity if Halloran should get mixed 
up in these secret organizations which are on foot. It 
would be a pity for this fine old property to be involved.” 

“John Halloran is one who scorns all anticipated pity, 
being sufficient in his own resources for whatever may 
befall him. But why should Donald More suggest such 
things ?” she said, with dignity. 

“Well,” he said, “the times suggest them — not 1. 


28 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


Every man ought to be on his guard who has landed in- 
terests at stake, and children to inherit them.’’ 

Just then a quick step bounded through the hall, and 
the next moment Mary Halloran lay sobbing on the 
bosom of her husband. 

“ Ha, More ! I’m glad to see you,” he said, supporting 
his wife in one arm, while he held his hand out to her 
kinsman. Mary, darling, you have moped yourself to 
death, and are nervous. By-and-by we shall be more 
together ; my business is almost completed. But apropos, 
where is supper? Nora I Nora Brady, let us have tea 
and a cold fowl, and any other nice thing you may have,” 
said Mr. Halloran, calling to Nora in cheerful tones. 

“ I wonder you are not more careful, Halloran,” said 
Donald More, as John Halloran threw himself on the sofa 
beside his wife ; outrages are fearfully common — burn- 
ings and murders by the score.” 

‘‘ It’s the old song, and a convenient and most plausible 
excuse for new exactions — new oppressions,” he replied, 
carelessly. “ I know something about these matters. I 
know how, insulted and trodden on, exasperated and mad- 
dened, my poor countrymen sometimes turn like worms 
and sting the heels that crush them. Then come the 
outcry and the death-cry together, and the huge hand of 
oppression, armed with a thousand scourges, falls heavily 
far and wide. No, I am not afraid ; and once it would 
have been a marvel to hear one of the McCarthy Mores 
talk of /car.” 

“ That’s very fine — a very fine sentiment ; but I sup- 
pose the Mores are degenerating with the rest of man- 
kind ; besides, you know, I am a lateral branch, and my 
mother was an Englishwoman, so I’m sworn in from my 
birth, and all my natural proclivities are for the Union,” 
said Donald More, laughing sarcastically. 


NORA BRADY’S VOW. 


29 


Sitting a little back from the others, he had been watch- 
ing Nora as she came in and out, making eyes at her, and 
grimacing, which liberties she resented by looks of inef- 
fable scorn on her handsome face ; and, finally, as she 
attempted to reach across to put the tea-urn in its place, 
he suddenly pinched her cheek. 

^‘Ughl” screamed Nora, and the next instant the tea- 
urn, with its boiling contents, was toppled over him. He 
sprang up with a fearful oath. Mrs. Halloran shrieked, 
and her husband, who, in a mirror opposite, had watched 
the whole affair, could scarcely control his features or 
restrain his laughter. 

“Nora — why, Nora,’^ he said, as she came in with a 
cloth to wipe up the floor, “that was extremely awk- 
ward.^’ 

“ I know it was, sir ; an’ if a vile bug hadn’t stung me 
on the cheek, it wouldn’t have happened at all. I wish 
St. Patrick himself was here to drive all such venomous 
creatures away from Glendariff, anyways. Did it hurt 
you, sir ?” she asked, innocently, turning to Donald More, 
who, half frantic with pain, had thrown himself on the 
sofa, where he lay groaning vociferously. His reply was 
full of profanit}^ and fury. Nora shrugged her shoulders, 
and turned away to conceal the smile that flitted over her 
face. 

“ Go, Nora, quickly, and tell Mrs. Shea to prepare the 
south chamber for Mr. More ; tell her he is badly scalded. 
Go, have it done as soon as possible,” said Mrs. Halloran, 
nervously. 

“ I am sorry this accident happened, Donald,” said 
John Halloran. 

“Accident! I am parboiled. My shoulder — my arm 
— my thigh ! Good God, Halloran ! I am almost mur- 
dered !” he screamed. 


3 * 


30 


NORA BRADTS VOW, 


You will feel better soon. Keep quiet. Mrs. Shea 
has an invaluable remedy for burns ’’ 

“Do try, John, to get him up to the south room at 
once, that something may be done,’^ said Mrs. Halloran, 
really sorry for him. 

“ Yes — yes — let me get there. I shall go mad if this 
continues five minutes longer. Help me up, Halloran. 
There — Diablel I can’t walk.” But, with the assistance 
of a stick, and Mr. Halloran’s arm, he succeeded in climb- 
ing the stairs, where, in a little while, a remedy was ap- 
plied, which relieved his pains considerably, and a com- 
posing draught administered, under the influence of which 
his irritated nerves were somewhat soothed. Mrs. Shea, 
sharing in the dislike with which all regarded him, dark- 
ened the room, and made her escape as soon as she thought 
he was asleep. But he heard her go out, and, finding him- 
self alone, gave vent to the revengeful feelings of his dark 
heart in low, bitter words. “It shall fall on them all,” he 
said, — “ all. I have not dogged J ohn H alloran’s steps, day 
and night, in vain. He robbed me of my first love — the 
love of my boyhood. She robbed me of the small inherit- 
ance, which should be mine, by her inconstancy ; and 
now this vixen — this virago — because I touched her 
dainty cheek, maims me for life. But vengeance is near 
at hand.” And he fell asleep, to dream of the ruin he 
would work. 

It was past midnight, and a deep hush was over Glen- 
dariff. All beneath the old roof slept soundly, except John 
Halloran. He sat watching beside a lone couch, on which 
reclined his wife. She had refused to retire. A strange, 
sad presentiment urged her to watch through that night, 
lest, if she fell asleep, when she awoke she should find 
him gone ; but at last he prevailed on her to lie down 
and rest, and, folding her hand in his, sat talking low, 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


31 


pleasant words to her, until, quite exhausted with the 
emotions of the day, a deep slumber stole over her. And 
now she lay so calm and motionless that it looked like 
death, — strangely beautiful and solemn. He dashed 
heavy tears from his eyes as he leaned over her, and his 
heart almost failed him. He thought, perchance, he 
might never look on her face again. Alas I long years 
would roll by ere he would see that sweet face again, ex- 
cept in visions of the night. A pang wrung his heart, 
and his face grew deadly white. He stooped and kissed 
her, then took up the small scissors from the work-table 
and cut one of the long fair curls which lay on her cheek, 
and placed it carefully and tenderly in his pocket-book ; 
kissed her once more, and, with a noiseless step, left the 
room to seek his children. Oh, little pebbles of the brook of 
life and love ! how sure and unerring is the aim with which, 
at moments like this, ye are slung into the forehead of giant 
nature, bringing him prostrate to a level with your own 
littleness! How the blow sinks down into his heart, mak- 
ing it heavier than the nether millstone, and as bitter as the 
waters of Marah ! John Halloran could but weep now ; 
there was no help for it. His tears and kisses fell together 
on their heads. He lifted their soft, dimpled hands to his 
bearded cheeks, and pressed long, loving kisses on their 
rosy lips. But it must end. One lingering look and fond 
caress, and he tore himself from them. Perhaps some- 
thing whispered that he should never see them thus again ; 
that one of that twain would flit heavenward, and leave 
only the vision of a shrined angel in his memory. 

And now he is out on the lawn. The full orbed moon 
sheds an unspeakable splendor upon the scene, silvering 
over the antique gables and quaint chimney-stacks of the 
old house, and throwing tremulous shadows through the 
foliage on the deep set windows. When should he see it 
again ? 


CHAPTER III. 


‘^What? Thundering to be heard, Old Land? 

Ho ! bravely and boldly done ; 

Now! where are thy children gone? 

Ay, there, support her, she’s weak ; 

See, see how her cold limbs shake. 

Let her lean on that busted brand ! 

They have treated thee ill, old dame. 

And thou blushest with rage and shame ! 

Thou’rt astir, — a fearful token 

That the o’erstrung bow is broken.” 

A GLEAM of sunshine, that flickered through the dense 
foliage which shadowed the window, fell warm and golden 
over Mary Halloran’s face, and awoke her from her deep 
but uneasy slumbers. Surprised to find that she had 
passed the night on her couch instead of the bed, she 
could not, at first, remember how it was. She passed her 
hand over her forehead, then glanced around the room 
with a wild and frightened look ; and, when she found it 
empty, she flew toward the bed and tore back the cur- 
tains. But she saw that it had been untouched, and a 
low cry of anguish escaped her lips. She tottered toward 
the bell-rope and pulled it, then fell heavily on the couch 
from which she had risen, her face as white as the cam- 
bric pillows on which she leaned. 

Did you ring, ma’am said Nora, coming in. 

Where is Mr. Ilalloran, Nora?” she asked, as calmly 
as she could. 

It’s altogether uncertain, ma’am, if he is not here. 

( 32 ) 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


33 


Troth and I thought he was snug in his bed yet,’^ replied 
Nora, endeavoring to conceal her own anxiety. 

“My husband is not here, Nora:, he’s gone. Some- 
thing dreadful has happened. I know and feel it. I have 
felt it on me these many days,” she said, folding her long 
white hands together, and rocking herself to and fro, 
while a torrent of tears rolled over her cheeks. 

“ Why, surely, now, it’s nothing onusual for a gintle- 
man to be out airly at this season of the year. I’ve h’ard 
him say, God save him, that he’d rayther be out when 
the dew is on the fern-leaves and the birds whistling 
through the morning air, than to see the grandest show 
in the kingdom. He’ll be in presently, and have to wait 
for his breakfast, if I don’t be stirring.” 

“Nora, is Mr. Halloran’s horse in the stable?” she 
asked. 

“And how should he be, surely, and Mister Halloran 
out on the hill-side, or foreninst there at Holy Cross, on 
his back?” replied Nora, cheeringly. 

“ There is one thing will settle all this doubt. I dread 
the worst ; and yet — my God I — it is necessary for me to 
know it. If they should be gone, how can I bear it ? 
Help me, 0 my Father*! thou whose ears are never 
closed to the plaint of thy suffering ones ; endow me with 
strength and fortitude to bear the storms which are gath- 
ering about my head. 

‘Jesus, lover of my soul, 

Let me to thy refuge fly. 

While the nearer waters roll. 

While the tempest’s wrath is nigh.”^ 


And even then, while her troubled soul poured out its 
cry for aid, she felt calmer and stronger. An almighty 
arm was about her, and would bear her up as the bitter 


34 


NORA BRADY'S VOW. 


floods rolled by now; and in tlie sorrowful days that were 
to come, He would be her solace and defense. 

She went to an old oak cabinet, and, turning the key, 
opened the door. One glance sufficed to show her that 
the shelves were empty. “ Yes, they are gone,’’ she 
murmured; ^‘gone.” 

“Anil what is it, Maire Bhan astliore,'^^ said Nora, who 
had come close to her and placed her strong arm tenderly 
and caressingly around her slender,' drooping form, — 
“ what is it that’s gone, my jewel ?” 

“All gone 1 Sword, spurs, the green uniform, epau- 
lets, chapeau, and all. Gone with my darling to the wild 
hills of Tipperary, where the cruel hunters will snare and 
cage him, — my eagle-heart, whose worst fault is that it 
would be too near the sun. Oh I oh !” 

“And what is this, suillish machreeV^ stooping down 
to pick up a small twisted note which had fallen iinper- 
ceived when the door was opened. “ It looks like his own 
writing, surely.” 

“It is — it isl” cried Mrs. Halloran, running her eye 
rapidly over its contents. The blood mounted to her pale 
cheeks, and something like exultation lit up her features, 
but faded rapidly, and she leanbd on Nora’s faithful bosom 
cold and shivering. “Let me lie down, Nora dear, and 
read it to me. I cannot see very clearly. Perhaps I did 
not read it right,” she said, feebly. 

“ Sweet wife” (Nora read), “ I have courage to die for 
my country, but not enough to bear your tears and a 
mutual farewell. But cheer up. Our separation will be 
short. When we meet again, the old Sunburst will wave 
its folds of green and gold over Ireland, — the beacon of 
her freedom. She will lift up her bowed head and be a 
nation once more, and our children will be no longer 
helots, but freemen. Adieu, sweet wife. Kiss the dear 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


35 


ones, and tell Nora I recommend ye all to her loving 
care.” 

“And so she will lift up her head, alanna,” cried Nora, 
in a transport, “ if he’s to be the leader, and had a few 
like hisself to help. It will be done ; an’ the English, 
with their red coat sogers, and their black-coat parsons, 
and their sneaking tithe-men, drivers, and the devil knows 
what beside, will be hunted off our Irish acres in a jiffy, 
and lave our beautiful country to shinfanej the right 
owners, by troth.” 

“Nora!” said Mrs. Halloran. 

“Faith, ma’am, and I can see nothing to be crying 
afther, at all. If I only knowed where to go and how to 
go, I’d be off on the wildest Kerry colt I could find to 
help, only in respect to yourself, suillish machree, I 
couldn’t lave you unprotected. But there is one shall go 
in my place, please God, and that’s Dennis Byrne ; and 
if he’s kilt, it’ll be the best thing could happen in such a 
cause. May God and the Blessed Virgin help the right.” 

“Amen I” said Mrs. Halloran, in a low, fervent tone ; 
“we are in our Father’s hands. We are under the pro- 
tection of our blessed and dear Lady. We may suffer, — 
oh, yes, that we must expect, — but, in the end, peace and 
rest must come. Go down, dear Nora ; and the moment 
anything happens, let me know.” 

“ Yes,” said Nora, pausing in the old oak-paneled pas- 
sage to shake her fist toward a closed door; “and if you 
hadn’t got what you did in good time, you’d be on his 
track, cross-bred mule that you are ; but, thanks to the 
scalding tay that lathered your shins, it’ll be some time 
before you can do any mischief, black informer that 3^ou 
are.” Then, as if relieved, she walked quietly and swiftly 
down to the kitchen to begin her usual day’s labor, — a 
labor which her cheerful and faithful heart and Indus- 


36 


NORA BRADY'S VOW. 


trious hands made so light that she not unfrequently had 
more time to herself than any other domestic at Glen- 
dariff. 

No event of importance occurred that day. If a stranger 
had been passing through the country, he would have lin- 
gered on the road to gaze down on the tranquil beauty of 
Glendariff, and thought it must be the abode of happiness 
and contentment. He would have known that plenty 
teemed from those rolling lands, covered with a verdure 
and luxuriance of vegetation which indicated the fer- 
tility of the soil, and those sunny slopes, rich in waving 
grain, which, as the wind-tide ebbed and flowed over it, 
swayed and undulated with a motion as graceful and har- 
monious as the ocean-billow when no storm is on it. In 
the distance, through a natural vista, his eye would have 
fallen on the gray ruins of Holy Cross, their desolate 
grandeur and beautiful decay gilded by the sunbeam, 
while here and there, through the moss-grown arches, the 
bright-blue waters of the Suire might be seen rippling on 
toward the sea, uttering the same mysterious numbers 
that it sang of old, like Time, hymning the wrongs, the 
evils, and the sins of men as it rolls solemnly on toward 
eternity. And then he would have turned away from 
the view of Glendariff — beautiful in its antique style and 
picturesque site — from its abundance, from its productive 
fields — to go past the abodes of poverty, which the natu- 
ral and rich resources of the land had no blessing for, and 
see men and women worn down with ineffectual labor, 
bowed and gloomy on the inadequate returns it would 
afford them, or characterized by a levity and recklessness 
which, with the livery of want that they wore, preached 
bitter homilies by its mockery. 

As evening wore on, Mrs. Halloran’s anxieties increased. 
She could think of but one thing, and that was the ap- 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


3t 

proaching desperate struggle. The very indefinite knowl- 
edge she possessed heightened and augmented her terror. 
When ? where ? whal ? were the questions that haunted 
her. The children shrunk back, rendered timid by her 
silence and paleness, and Mrs. Shea retired angry and 
voluble from her because she did not open her lips when 
she went in to report to her concerning the health of 
Donald More. 

^‘An^ it^s in purgatory IVe got before my time,” she 
complained to Nora, “with that screeching, swearing 
pagan up-stairs, that was so crazy to get out this morn’ 
that he swears a big oath, and giv^es a lape, when down 
he comes flat to the floor, laving me the immortal honor, 
sure, of picking him up ; an’ troth if he does it agen, 
honey. I’ll get the pitchfork to toss him in. It was all 
through your bad doings, Nora Brady, and you ought to 
nurse him.” 

“ Thank you, dear Mistress Shea ; I don’t look up to 
any such grandeur as to nurse such a great gentleman as 
Donald Dhu,” said Nora, laughing, as Mrs. Shea flounced 
out with a bowl of chocolate for the invalid. 

That night Nora sat silent and sad by the fireside, her 
fingers busy shifting from one needle to the other the 
stitches of a stocking, her eyes fixed thoughtfully on the 
glowing turf, her lips silent. No sound was heard but 
the chirping of a cricket in some warm corner. Ere long 
the silence was broken by the echo of heavy, slow foot- 
steps. She thought it might be Dennis Byrne, and tripped 
out on the lawn to meet him ; but it was Father McCarthy. 

“ God save us, your reverence,” she said, kneeling for 
his blessing, which he gave. 

“And how is Mrs. Halloran, my child ?” he asked. 

“ She’s poorly enough, sir.” 

“And Mr. Halloran, — where is he ?” 

4 


38 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


We do not know exactly, father: he left home in the 
night, and it’s much comfort she needs, poor thing.” 

Heaven help the poor child !” said the priest, in a com- 
passionate tone. “ Where is she, Nora?” 

She’s in the room, sir, Mr. Halloran’s books and things 
is in, where he used to read and write, your reverence. 
Shall I go and tell her ?” 

^‘No, no; it is not necessary,” he replied, hurrying in 
with a heavy heart, for Mary Halloraii was the child of 
his only sister, and he loved her well. 

Nora could not sit still or rest: so, throwing the stocking 
aside, she walked with a quick pace down to the lodge, 
once inhabited by a porter who kept the gate. But it was 
dismantled and almost ruined now, with its low stone 
walls covered with ivy and creepers, and which John 
Halloran had allowed to stand, because it was a pictur- 
esque feature at Glendariff. She went to the broken case- 
ment which looked out on the road, and, leaning her arms 
on the low sill, stood watching for the blacksmith of Kil- 
dare. She had not waited long before he came. 

^^Nora asthore,^^ he said, starting at the sound of her 
voice, “is it waiting for me that you are here ? It’s no 
safe place for one like you, dear.” 

“And why isn’t it a safe place, Dennis Byrne ?” 

“ Because the times is bad.” 

“ What is the matter with the times, sure ? It seems 
to me the times is good enough ; and if men was as good 
as the times, we shouldn’t have English sogers poking 
their noses into everybody’s business, and kith and kin 
hounding each other, selling their own flesh and blood 
like nagur slaves.” 

“Whist, Nora dear ! it isn’t safe to talk out,” he replied, 
looking furtively about him, and speaking in a whisper. 
“ Is Mr. Halloran up yonder?” 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


39 


; and that’s what I wanted to spake to yon about. 
Have you heard any news to-day ? — but come in ; it’ll be 
safe altogether there,” she said. 

May-be not,” he replied; may-be not. There’s 
sogers lurking about Glendariff. They’re watching for 
Mister Halloran.” 

“ They’ll have their watching for their trouble, then. 
He’s not here, nor won’t be again in a hurry, accordin’ to 
my judgment. But I’ve got something to say, Dennis, 
and I might as well say it first as last. It’s a dark day 
when it come to my heart, and a sorrowful one when it 
comes out. But it’s no use ; may-be it’ll blow over and 
may-be it won’t: anyway, God’s will be done. We was 
to be married in the spring coming. I have fifty pounds 
and a cow to begin with. You have enough for a poor 
boy to settle with ; and I won’t say I looked to the time 
with sorrow. I loved to think of being in my own cot, 
and keeping it cheery and thrifty for you, avourneen, and, 
troth, I had my own dreams of happiness. But they’re 
over now. It cannot be- ” 

What’s that you’re saying, Nora Brady, afther prom- 
ising me these three years ?” exclaimed Dennis Byrne, 
aghast. “ Don’t be trifling with a fellow in that way, 
Nora; joke with anything but that, and I’ll laugh with 
you — ” 

You h’ard every word I said, and I’m just as much in 
airnest, Dennis, as if it was my dying day. And you 
may give me up intirely if you like. I can very quick 
give you back your love-tokens. But my mind’s made 
up, and, what’s more, I’ve taken a vow.” 

In the name of the Blessed Virgin, woman, what are 
you talking about?” he asked, half beside himself. 

It’s aisy enough explaining what I say,” she said, 
laying her hand on his shoulder. You know, Dennis, 


40 


NORA BRADY'S VOW. 


as well as I do, what’s in the wind, and Mister Halloran’s 
in it, where every true Irishman ought to be ; and, if he’s 
helped by them that have rayson enough to fight, it’ll be 
a glorious day for Ould Ireland. I know that, and want 
it, too, if I am only a poor girl. But mind, Dennis, 
may-be the rebellion will fail, — God help them that’s 
risked all they have on the chance, — and, if it does, I’ve 
made a vow before Heaven, on the cross, never to wed 
you if you don’t help them that’s willing to spill their 
blood for you, and if sorrow and distress and penury 
come to Glendariff, never to marry until all is right 
again with them I love. If they suffer, I suffer ; if they 
wander, I wander. And now be off with you ; for that 
is Nora Brady’s Yow.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


But alas for his country ! — her pride is gone by, 

And that spirit is broken which never would bend; 

O'er the ruin her children in secret must sigh, 

For ’tis treason to love her, and death to defend. 

Unprized are her sons, till they’ve learned to betray; 
Undistinguished they live, if they shame not their sires; 

And the torch that would light them through dignity's way 
Must be caught from the pile where their country expires.” 

Moore. 

^^Nora Brady, you have done me a great wrong this 
day,” said Dennis Byrne, grasping her arm, as she turned 
to leave him,, while his heart swelled with indignation and 
grief. He had loved Nora long and faithfully ; early and 
late had he toiled, that he might surround her with homely 
domestic comforts when she entered his house as its mis- 
tress ; and now, when just on the eve of the realization of 
his bright hopes, to be told that could not to have 
all those beautiful dreams so rudely dashed out, — it was 
almost more than he could endure. 

'‘Now, be a man, Dennis darling,” said Nora, wiping 
the tears away from her face. “If I can bear it, you can, 
surely. I didn’t say at all that I didn’t love you, or that 
I was going to play a false game with you, mamurneen, 
I only want you to be patient, and wait may-be a year, 
may-be longer, in respect to the great Ihrouble that’s come 
on the two we love, and who has been the best friends we 
ever had, and that needs our help as much as we ever 
needed theirs ; that is, if things go wrong with them, that 
would lay down their lives to make ’em right.” 

4 * ( 41 ) 


42 


NORA BRADrS VOW. 


‘‘ I see no ray son yet why we shouldn’t marry. I love 
John Halloran, — ay, the very sod his feet presses, — an’ 
for his sake I’d give up everything but you, Nora; but 
why we can’t sarve him an’ his as w^ell when we’re man 
an’ wife, as now, bates me out intirely.” 

That’s because you’re a pittiogue, Dennis Byrne,” 
said Nora, indignantly. ‘'How do I know what’s coming 
to pass ? If poverty comes to Glendariff, or rayther if 
poverty chases them away from Glendariff, I, for one, 
shouldn’t like to hoard up the gold that I aimed in their 
service ; an’ who knows but that I shall have to cross the 
sea ? There’ll be enough for Norah Brady’s hands to do, 
without having a master to the fore, to bid me here and 
ordher me there. And let this be the last of it entirely ; if 
you choose to wait for me, wait ; if you don’t — be off as 
fast as your two legs can carry you.” 

Dennis, the stout blacksmith of Kildare, was silent for 
some time. He knew by N ora’s manner that her resolution 
was taken and not to be moved, and, although he felt angry 
enough at what he considered her unreasonableness, the 
thought of giving her up was like death. Next to her he 
loved John Halloran. They had been playmates together ; 
indeed, the same breasts had suckled both in their infancy, 
for Byrne’s mother had the nursing of the young heir of 
Glendariff until he was weaned, and the boys had grown 
up together, every year strengthening the tie, which in Ire- 
land is as strong as that of kindred, until manhood sepa- 
rated them ; and each in his sphere retained the old love and 
the old interest, and found many opportunities of serving 
the other. The friendship of John Halloran had cheered 
and brightened the humble life of his foster-brother; it had 
saved him from many an extortion and much injustice ; 
and the consciousness of it gave confidence and energy 
to his manhood, for he knew that he was his earthly provh 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


43 


dence, and would never let harm, that money or influence 
could avert, blight his life. He thought of all this now, 
and the merry sports of “long ago,^^-r-of the days^ fishing 
in the Suire, their wild adventures and long excursions 
to the Kerry Mountains, and the delicious loitering among 
the old ruins of Holy Cross. He could not but serve John 
Halloran, now that dark days threatened him. Ho felt 
ashamed of his momentary selfishness, and at last said, — 

“Nora, mo seactn-anam astig tu^ are you ; but let it 
be as you say. You have tould me what you will do, 
but what I’m to do is what I doesn’t know. I don’t even 
know where Misther Halloran is, God save him. I have 
heard rumors of a rebellion, but where it’s to break out 
it’s more than I can tell, an’ I wish I did, for, bedad ! I’d 
like to be in the thick of it. But there’s one thing, a suillish 
mahuil agus ?nac/irce,”f he said, brightening up: “he 
often tould me, if he got into throuble with the govern- 
ment, as he said from a boy he always intended, and was 
hunted by the Saxon hounds, that I must seek him beyant 
the clouds — that is, in a den so high up on Ballyhowry 
Mountain that the wild craythurs have never made their 
lair in it. And so good-by, Nora; the moon’s up, and 
I’ll run down to Larry Ragan’s cabin an’ hire the suit and 
wallet of the old baccah man that’s been sick in it these 
two months, and be off before day. One kiss, Nora 
darling.” 

“The Blessed Mother of God have you in her keeping, 
my coen-buy deelish,^^ said Nora, as she allowed him to 
take the farewell kiss he asked, while tears overflowed 
her eyes. “Good-by, Dennis dear: warm will be the 
sheda veha when you come back. God’s holy angels go 


Seven times dearer than my soul, 
f Light of my eyes and heart. 


44 


NORA BRADY'S VOW, 


with you. But wait one minute ! I’d like to forgotten the 
very thing above all that must be thought t)f. Here — hide 
this about you somewhere : it’s for Mister Halloran, if you 
find him where you’re going to, and give it to him with 
Nora Brady’s humble service and love, and tell him to 
have no uneasiness in respect to Mrs. Halloran and the 
childer, for if I ever lave or forsake them in the dark hour 
may God forsake me. Now hurry off, Dennis; and don’t 
forget the limp when you get the wallet across your 
shoulders.” 

“ I’ll engage you never saw such limping done afore, by 
a fellow wid sound legs,” said Dennis Byrne, laughing, 
as he deposited the little package she had given him, in 
the depths of his breast pocket. 

‘‘Now go on, and don’t be afther looking back, alanna, 
for fear of the black luck,” said Nora, pushing him 
away. 

Cutting a stout black-thorn by the roadside, Dennis 
Byrne started on what might have been considered a 
wild-goose chase, if the results of his journey had not 
proved that his instincts had guided him aright. Travel- 
ing mostly by night, and begging a sup and morsel here 
and there on the roadside, evading with success the parties 
of English soldiers that dashed from time to time across 
his path, keeping his ears open when, two or three times, 
he was invited to spend the night by the turf fire of some 
hospitable peasant, and saying but little, he heard that a 
battle had been fought in Tipperary, and that the patriotic 
band who dared to strike for freedom and their native land 
had been defeated and routed. Not daring to ask a ques- 
tion (for he was among strangers), the news quickened his 
steps, and after many days’ wearisome travel he reached 
the chain of high hills which, lifting their summits to the 
clouds, and broken into a thousand scenes of the wildest 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


45 


grandeur, whose steep defiles and beetling cliffs were full 
of sublimity and magnificence, threw their broad shadows 
over the fruitful valleys of Munster, Following some- 
times the steep and rugged balleagh, or forcing his way 
cautiously along the windings of a narrow wolf-track, he 
scaled one rocky height after another, deterred neither by 
their perils nor bleakness from the accomplishment of his 
faithful purpose. Occasionally he sought the shelter of 
some sheeling perched high up among the cliffs, and 
whose poverty-stricken inmates made him welcome to a 
meal of potatoes and milk, but could give him no infor- 
mation of what was passing below. Up in that wild 
region they heard but little of what was passing among 
their fellow-men ; nor cared they much, for in the sharp 
struggle for existence which for evermore saddened their 
life, in the grasp and clutch for the barest means to avert 
starvation and bitter want, they had no time to spare on 
the concerns of others, or to waste in dreams which their 
life-long shadow had made idle and profitless to them. 
They bore with sullen patience the evils of their lot, and 
endured the sweat and labor entailed by Adam on his 
race, without, many, many times, the reward of the bread 
promised. 

It was late in the afternoon when Dennis Byrne, at the 
imminent peril of life and limb, reached the cave, high up 
on one of the highest peaks of the Ballyhowry Mountains, 
which John Halloran and himself had discovered years 
ago. But it was lonely. No living creature had dis- 
turbed the stones which they had piled up at its entrance. 
And it was now that the stout heart of the blacksmith of 
Kildare failed him, and the fruitlessness of his toils over- 
whelmed him ; and he sat down on a moss-grown rock and 
wept like a child. Believed by this outburst of tears, he 
sought a more sheltered place, for it was bitterly cold, 


46 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


and, taking a crust from his wallet, moistened it with 
whisky and ate it, after which he cleared away the great 
stones one by one from the entrance of the cave, and 
gathered moss and dead fern to make himself a lair to 
sleep in that night. At length, his arrangements being 
completed, he threw himself down to rest, which he had 
never in his life of toil needed more than he did then. 
He cast his eyes abroad : the last gleam of sunlight had 
fled away like gold-plumaged birds from the crags and 
peaks of the neighboring mountains, and the gray mist 
like a silent flood had risen from the valley, and enveloped 
him until he almost imagined himself to be the lone inhabit- 
ant of some desolate island. "He felt awed by the deep 
unbroken silence and dreary solitude of his situation, and, 
drawing his well-worn rosary out of his pocket, he knelt 
down and devoutly recited it, after which he crept into the 
cavern, and was soon sleeping calmly and heavily. 

He might have slept two or three hours, — he could not 
tell, — when he was suddenly awakened by something fall- 
ing heavily upon him. Starting up with a wild cry, he 
grappled, with the intruder, who was a man, and who 
seemed powerful enough in frame, but from some cause 
or other feeble and helpless. 

“Who are you at all?’’ cried Dennis, while a cold 
moisture started to his lips. '“If you’re a friend, spake; 
if you’re a foe, bedad, it’ll not be long before you find your 
broken bones in the glen below 1” But a stifled groan 
was his only response : then there was a dead silence, 
and the man lay limp and heavy on his arm, and his low, 
quick breathing gradually ceased. 

“Christ defend us! the poor soul is dead; and I’d 
rayther it’ud be a wild wolf than a dead man, to spend 
the night with,” exclaimed Dennis, while the cold drops 
rolled over his face ; but now a faint moan reassured him, 


NORA BRADY'S VOW. 


4T 


and he dragged the stranger out into the cold, keen air. 
A dark cloud which had obscured the moon sailed slowly 
away, and her clear, bright rays fell full on the white, 
upturned face which Dennis Byrne supported on his 
shoulder. Pie looked down on it for an instant in wild 
amaze ; he pushed back the matted hair from the bold 
forehead, and exclaimed, — 

“ Holy St. Patrick! but it’s him hisself !” Then he 
laid the head of John Halloran down on a rude pillow 
which he made of his cloak, moving it as gently and as 
tenderly with his great rough hands and awkward limbs 
as if he had been tending an infant, and got out bis flask 
and poured a few drops of potheen between the lips of 
the exhausted man, and unbuckled his stock : all of which 
seemed to revive him. Soon he opened his eyes and 
looked around him, then into the face of Byrne, whom he 
recognized at once, and grasped his hand. 

“ True — true ; faithful to the last,” he said, in a faint 
voice. “ How are they at Glendariff 

“Well and safe, your honor; but what’s this — and 
this ? What’s the throuble, sir?” said Dennis, pointing 
to some black stains on Mr. Halloran’s shirt-bosom. 

“I was wounded, Dennis; not badly. Loss of blood, 
though, has weakened me. I wish I might have died ; for 
to survive the ruin of all I planned and hoped for, is more 
than I can bear. All is lost. At Ballingarry a few des- 
perate hearts periled their all in the chances of battle. 
They expected aid from dastards, who promised but failed 
to come to their succor ; and all was lost. Of these noble 
and glorious men, some are prisoners of our foes, and will 
meet the doom of felons; others, like myself, are hiding 
until the hour arrives for us to fly into an exile of poverty 
and obscurity. ” 

“ But surely your honor will return to Glendaritf ? Sure, 


48 


NORA BRADrS VOW, 


sir, Mrs. Halloran’s crazy with sorrow in respect to you, 
and Nora’s put me off intirely,” said Dennis, scarcely 
comprehending all his meaning. 

“ 1 fear I shall never see Glendariff again. I must fly 
to France or America : not to shun death or danger, but 
ignominy. I shall find means to send for my family. Of 
course they will be stripped of everything. Oh, my God ! 
my poor Mary and the little ones ! But, Dennis, you must 
go back, man ; you must hasten back and stand by them 
all. I charge you to protect them until I can bring them 
to me, wherever I may go.” 

“ I think it ’ud be better intirely for me to stand by 
your honor’s self,” said Byrne, while his broad chest 
heaved with emotion. 

That cannot be, my friend. I know your faithful- 
ness ; and, in leaving you with those who are dearer to me 
than life, I shall feel that they have not only a friend, but 
a protector,” said John Halloran. 

will stay; I will do anything your honor wishes; 
an’ it’s little I’m able to do, but I’ll endeavor to do it right. 
But let it all alone now, sir, and go to sleep. When the 
sun rises I will call you. There’s a snug bed of heather 
within our old nest, and your honor can make yourself 
aisy in respect to any one’s cornin’, seein’ that I’m goin’ 
to watch till morn.” 

Heart-broken, and enfeebled by loss of blood, John Hal- 
loran, thankful for an hour’s repose, crept into the cave, 
and was soon asleep. The next morning he awoke 
refreshed and strengthened. Dennis had kindled a fire of 
fagots in a sheltered corner, and made such preparations 
as his wallet afforded, for breakfast. 

“What is that you have on, Dennis ? I think it will 
help me in my escape to the coast, — that beggar’s gown 
and bag. Can you spare it?” 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


49 


Your honor’s welcome to it intirely, only it ’ud be 
a disgrace to see such-like rags on your shoulders, sir. 
And it’s a narrow chance I’m afeared your honor’ll have, 
for the whole country’s swarming with red-coats,” said 
Dennis Byrne. 

“I have friends a little lower down on the mountain. 
That wild son of old Sheehan’s, whose life I saved some 
years ago, is at home. I saw him yesterday, and he has 
promised to get me off as soon as his vessel drops down 
from the north.” 

‘^An’ he’s engaged in the free trade, sir, is he ?” 

“ Yes. He’s a smuggler,” said John Halloran. 

Here’s good luck to him, then, and to all that’s up for 
their rights,” said Byrne, “ and may he get your honor 
safe away till the outcry is over.” 

I’ll trust him. I should not have chosen him ; but I 
trust him,” was the short response. 

‘‘And where is your honor going to ?” 

“ I scarcely know. I wish to go to America ; but they 
shall know at home, whether it be in France or the United 
States. I am without a shilling ; and circumstances must 
guide me. I am like a piece of drift-wood, and God alone 
knows where or how I may be stranded.” 

“Your honor’ll pardon me, an’ poor Nora too,” said 
Dennis, fumbling in his pocket, “ but she sent this to your 
honor, with her humble service and love, and hopes it 
may help you, sir.” 

“And what is it?” said John Halloran, holding the 
little package neatly sewed up in brown silk in his hand, 
and turning it over and over with a troubled curiosity. 
Then he opened it, and found, neatly folded within, fifty 
pounds in notes and gold. “I cannot take it!” he ex- 
claimed, while tears gushed from his eyes. 

“And surely it ’ud break poor Nora’s heart to think 
5 


50 


NORA BRADY^S VOW, 


you scorned it, sir. She has no use for it surely, for 
we’re not thinking of ourselves until the dark days are 
gone by, an’ troth she knows it’s safer in your honor’s 
hands than in her own. Anyway, I’ll lave it here, sir, if 
you won’t take it; for I wouldn’t dare show my face at 
Glendarilf if I fetched it back. Why, it ’ud never do, 
your honor.” 

'‘Oh, Heaven! Well,” said Mr. Halloran, with deep 
emotion, “tell Nora I thank her for her loan. I won^’t 
think but that I can return it to her, one of these days, 
tenfold. But it is time for us to part, Dennis. You must 
hasten back with my sore heart’s best love to them all. 
Put a kiss on Grace’s little head for me, and tell Desmond 
to be a man and take care of his mother and sister. Per- 
haps even now my poor Mar}^ has heard that I am killed 
or taken, and the shock has broken her heart. But you 
must get there as fast as you can, and tell them I am safe 
and well ; and give this to my wife,” said John Halloran, 
severing one of the thick brown curls from his forehead 
with his knife. “ Give my love, too, to Nora, and tell her 
to stay by them, — that it comforts me to know she is 
there.” 

“ But the gown an’ wallet, your honor ?” said Dennis, 
in a choking voice, while he pretended to undo the fasten- 
ings of his beggar garb to hide his tears. 

“ No : I do not need it. I fear it is a disguise I 
could not counterfeit well. Good-by, faithful friend. I 
hoped a few days ago that we should deliver you and 
your brethren from the yoke which binds ye ; but all 
hope is wrecked. Oh, God ! O my country ! when thy 
own sons forsake thee, and turn their eyes coldly on 
thy misery, what is left but despair ? Oh, recreants to all 
sacred rights ! Oh, helots, who wear your chains in 
inglorious rest, would that I could rouse you ! would that 


NORA BRADY’S VOW, 


61 


I could kindle the flame in your cold hearts that is con- 
suming mine, that the death-blow might be given to the 
foe and the oppressor I But it is vain : my wishes — my 
wild ho*pes — my prayers — all are vain. Farewell, my 
friend.’’ 

. Dennis Byrne wrung the offered hand of the broken- 
hearted man. Awed by the outburst of his grief, he could 
not speak, but turned and walked swiftly away, to carry 
he poor comfort his tidings would afford to the lonely and 
sorrowful hearts at Glendariff. 


CHAPTER V. 


^^But now, too great for fetters grown, 

Too proud to bend the slavish knee, 
Loved Erin mocks the tyrant’s thrall. 
And firmly vows she will be free. 

But mark yon treacherous, stealthy kuave 
That bends beneath his country’s ban : 
Shall HE dash out a nation’s hope. 

The anti-Irish Irishman V* 


One bright sunny morning, just four weeks after Dennis 
Byrne left Glendarifif, he returned, footsore and weary 
enough. Parting with John Halloran under the gloomy 
circumstances of their last interview had been the saddest 
trial which had ever wrung the stout heart of the black- 
smith of Kildare, and, almost unmanned, his tears now 
and then fell in torrents, sprinkling the wild rocky paths 
he was descending. Once he met a cowherd searching for 
a stray heifer, and not long after, in a narrow gorge, came 
abreast of two or three shy, sullen-looking men, wear- 
ing a look of terror on their countenances, who, having 
been into the valley to buy meal and potatoes, had heard 
and seen enough to make them fly back to their mountain 
sheelings, perfectly satisfied to forego the necessaries they 
were in pursuit of, for the agreeable certainty of knowing 
that they had escaped hanging and quartering. Dennis 
soon discovered that their alarm was not groundless ; for 
as he approached nearer to the lowlands he perceived 
detachments of English soldiers galloping in every direc- 
( 52 ) 


NORA BRADY^S VOW, 


53 


tion over the country ; he saw that they were stationed 
at the farm-houses and at the cross-roads, and knew that, 
unless the providence of God delivered him, he should 
have a narrow escape, if indeed he did not really fall into 
their hands. But danger and peril always whet the edge 
of an Irishman’s wit ; his love of adventure imparts a 
zest to the most unequal rencontre^ while all-the chivalry 
and will of his nature are roused to defeat the purposes of 
those who would trample on him ; and, when he finds that 
mere physical strength cannot serve him, his keen wit, 
like a legion, is ready to grapple with an army of diffi- 
culties. Dennis Byrne’s disguise was perfect, and his limp 
inimitable, although it added a heavy weight to every 
mile ; while with the vacant, simple look he assumed, and 
a brogue which was absolutely terrible, he succeeded in 
passing unharmed more than one Saxon cordon, who 
were engaged in torturing and tormenting the harmless 
peasantry with an abuse of authority of which the Van- 
dals of a remoter age might have been ashamed. When- 
ever he spied them in the distance, he began to sing, with 
a voice which indicated a pair of lungs as tough and strong 
as his own great bellows in the smithy at Kildare, some 
wild Gaelic song, which, to those who were near enough 
to hear the words, was about as intelligible as the clatter 
of a mill-wheel, until they surrounded him with curses 
and questions not a few ; when, by his half-witted answers, 
his rough Connaught brogue, assumed for the occasion, 
and his idiotic expressions of wonder, he not only secured 
the freedom of the road, but succeeded in learning much 
that he wished to know, and on several occasions abso- 
lutely received as many shillings as blows. 

He learned that the principal chiefs in the late outbreak 
had been arrested and imprisoned : it was believed and 
hoped they would be hung, certainly transported. He 

5 * 


54 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


heard John Halloran’s name loaded with imprecations 
and curses, as one who had escaped; they feared he had 
got safe out of the country ; if not, such means were pro- 
vided for his arrest as must certainly prove effectual in 
his capture. 

At last Dennis found himself within the Park-gate at 
Glendariff. As he approached the house, he saw at once 
how it was. Sentinels in the uniform of the 4th regiment 
of Highlanders were stationed here and there about the 
mansion and grounds; and if at first he felt surprised at 
the circumstance of no guard being placed at the lodge, 
he understood it now ; but he thanked God fervently 
that the hunted fugitive was far away, and not likely to 
be led unwarily into this well-contrived ambuscade. As 
to himself, ‘‘ he didn’t care a snap if they took him prisoner ; 
it was just what he wanted, unless they sent him up to 
Dublin, bedad ! which would put another face intirely on 
the matter.” 

The shutters were all closed, and only the kitchen-door 
was open. Through this he saw Nora flitting around as 
usual ; perhaps more heavily and silently, for no wild 
melody, trilled out with the gladness of a pure and honest 
heart, now kept time to the motion of her busy hands. 
Limping up toward the kitchen, thinking at the moment 
only of Nora, he was suddenly grasped by the arm on one 
side, while from the other a bayonet presented before him 
glittered in his eyes. He turned, and found himself in the 
custody of two soldiers, who demanded the countersign. 

De what ? My granny used to know all de signs o’ 
de wedder ; but I niver was wise dat way,” said Dennis, 
dropping the corners of his eyes and his mouth together. 

What be your business, and where be you from last ?” 
asked the old soldier, gruffly. ’ 

“ An’ surely yer honor’s scaret me wits out ov me 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


65 


intirely. I almost forgot whedder I was ever born or 
not,’^ exclaimed Dennis, the picture of a fool. 

Come, ye hirplin’ gaberlunzie, tO' Captain Saunders^: 
he’s the chiel that’ll make ye glow’r. Hech, sirs ! but 
ye’ll tell him where ye come frae last,” said the Scotch- 
man, laying his hand on Dennis Byrne’s ragged collar and 
leading him into John Halloran’s library, where Captain 
Saunders with one or two of his officers was at breakfast. 
He was a man past middle age, with the harsh physi- 
ognomy of his nation ;* his hair was crisp and gray, cut 
as close to his head as a Covenanter’s, while his small, 
keen gray eyes were almost hidden by the shaggy, black 
brows which overhung them. 

“ Now, I rede ye, speak the truth,” whispered the ser- 
geant to Dennis, after he had paused for an instant, bolt 
upright, to make a military salute to his commanding 
officer. 

“ Who are you ?” asked Captain Saunders, after hear- 
ing his subordinate’s report. 

Only a poor innocent haccali man, beggin’ here an’ 
there a crust an’ a bone, yer honor,” replied Dennis, 
composedly. 

‘‘And do you know the premises you are on ? That I 
could imprison you, transport you, for daring to put your 
foot on these grounds without authority ? Oh, you are a 
douse laddie, my ragged freend I” said Captain Saunders. 

“ Christ pardon an’ save uz, an’ where am I at all, 
thin ? yer worship axes me ; an’ surely it’s I ought to be 
axin’ you where I be, seein’ you’re here, an’ I, a poor 
baccah lad, wid his staff an’ bag, jest from de hills of 
Tipperary,” replied Dennis. 


It is said that the Scotch officers and soldiers, greatly to their honor, 
at this period in Ireland, behaved like men from whose bosom humanity 
had not taken flight. 


56 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


The devil you are I’’ exclaimed the captain, excited 
by this piece of news ; “ and pray what were you after in 
that Gehenna?’^ 

Is dat a Shanghai, sir ? My grannie had lots bins, 
but I niver h’ard her mintion any sich breed as dat,’’ 
said Dennis, looking perfectly innocent, while the young 
officers, angry, but amused, endeavored to suppress a 
laugh. 

“I say, rascal, what business had ye in Tipperary?” 
roared Captain Saunders. 

‘‘ I dunno, yer honor. I h’ard I was born dare ; but, 
bein’ a poor orphin, I can’t swear to de fact, and be ray- 
son of me beravement, for I was a destitute orphin, yer 
honor, I had to take de wallet on me shoulder, and ax 
de hospitality of me neighbors an’ the counthry peoples ; 
but, save us, sirs! I’m druv off me ould bate intirely by 
de sogeriug an’ fighting dat’s goin’ on, sure. Detune de 
sogers an’ de rebels, I bin almost murthered intirely; de 
sogers takin’ me for a rebel, an’ de rebels takin’ me for 
a divil of a informer ; an’, yer honor, I was glad to git 
out of it intirely,” said Dennis, with an emphasis and 
strength of brogue which was deafening even to Scotch 
ears. 

Gude’s sake, mon, ye deserve hanging for the tliud^ 
and claver ye make. Can’t ye speak the Queen’s Eng- 
lish ?” exclaimed Captain Saunders, about the corners of 
Avhose eyes might be seen an incipient wrinkle of mirth. 

'‘Lord’s sake, sir! Can yer honor spake in de grand 
ould Celtic diction, dat I bin used to all my born days? 
If you can do dat, sir, I’m at your sarvice from mornin’ 
till night : me tongue gets on de right groove den, sir, an’ 
runs like a stame-carridge ; but de English is a furrin’ 


Confused noise. 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 57 

lingo to me, an’ my tongue goes blunderin’ over de brogue 
of it, till I don’t ’zactly know what I says myself.” 

“ No; and I’m glad I don’t, you pawkey,^^ said Captain 
Saunders. Here, Jock Hazel, search this fellow. He’s 
more knave than fool, in my opinion.” 

And without ceremony they proceeded to search the 
person of Dennis. They tore away the shreds of lining 
from his ragged hat, looked under the borrowed and rusty 
old wig he wore, emptied his wallet, and poked carefully 
among the bones and crusts which were scattered on the 
floor. They divested him of his coat, shoes, and stock- 
ings ; in fact, the inquisition extended from his head to his 
heels, leaving none of his tattered garments unexplored. 
But of course they found nothing, except the dark, glossy 
curl of John Halloran’s hair, which Captain Saunders 
held carefully, yet cautiously, between his forefinger and 
thumb, while the investigation proceeded. Concluding 
their fruitless search, they gave him permission to put 
on his clothes ; when Captain Saunders said, — 

I am not yet satisfied, you vagabond, but that you’re 
a rebel.” 

“ Me ! — ullalu — Chorp an daoul! Me I” shouted Den- 
nis, with a wild look of assumed terror. 

Yes ; and you are my prisoner, until I am satisfied 
that you are a leal subject of her majesty’s. If you at- 
tempt to leave the grounds of this — eh — ah — Glendariff, 
you’ll find a bullet in your head before you know what 
you’re after.” 

“An’ may I stay, yer honor, undher yer lordship’s pur- 
tiction ?” exclaimed Dennis, apparently overjoyed ; “ an’ 
can I have a little clane straw to slape on, an’ a sup 
to ate ? An’ will yer honor be afther givin’ a poor, diso- 
late orphin dat bit o’ hair betune yer fingers?” 

“ For what ? Whose hair is it ? I suspect, if this hair 


58 


NORA BRADY'S VOW. 


could talk it would tell tales. It is strangely like the 
hair of that portrait in the drawing-room, Donald,’’ said 
Captain Saunders, addressing one of the officers. 

''Dher cliorp agus manimP^^ exclaimed Dennis ; ^‘an’ 
thin yer honor’s eyes desave you intirely ; for dat hair 
belonged to a cousin’s husband of me own, dat died wid 
de small-pox last Whi’suntide.” 

In an instant the dark curl was lying at Dennis Byrne’s 
feet, while, half wild with the dread of contagion, Captain 
Saunders vociferously ordered him out of the house, and 
called for brandy, camphor, and vinegar. Glad to escape, 
Dennis snatched up the precious hair, and, again thrusting 
it into his bosom, was led under guard to the kitchen, 
where Nora, with her back to the door, was bending 
over some fine article of dress she was ironing. 

Mistress,” said the soldier, here’s a fellow you’ll be 
gude enough to take care of ; he’s a sonsie-looking chiel, an’ 
nae doot he’ll have your wits in a creel afore night.” 

Poor Dennis ! This was the most anxious moment of 
all. Suppose Nora should turn suddenly and exhibit an 
emotion which would betray all ? But, brave Nora, she 
was not one to breakdown in that way. She raised her- 
self up, and looked at both ; she recognized her sweet- 
heart at a glance, but, except the quickened and joyous 
throbbing at her heart, she was quite calm. 

And what is it I’m to do with him ?” she asked, scorn- 
fully. 

‘‘ He’s to be fed and housed, — that’s the order, lassie. 
He’s a prisoner,” said the Scotchman, laughing. 

It’s well for them that’s made so many beggars to 
have ’em fed. It’s an ould game, well understood in 


^ By my soul and body. 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


69 


Ireland, robbing Peter to pay Paul. What do you want 
she said, turning her eyes full on Dennis Byrne. 

“Why, ma’am,” he whimpered, “ I’m a poor orphin 
from Tipperary hills, an’ ’ud like a bowl o’ stirabout^ an’ 
a rasher, an’ a mug o’ ale or whisky, an’ a could fowl, if 
you has de likes of it by you.” 

“ I shall have to set the table for the gentleman from 
Tipperary,” she said, with alight, merry laugh. “ Perhaps 
yer honor’ll take a bit of venison, and some bottled sherry?” 

“Anything your ladyship plazes !” 

“If I was a man, I’d shake you to smithereens,^^ said 
Nora, bustling around, while Sergeant Hazel, with a 
laugh, wished her good luck of the bargain he had brought 
her, and went away. Neither of them uttered a word 
until he was out of hearing ; for he was too good a soldier 
to go out of sight. 

“Nora dear I” 

“ Thanks be to God, Dennis Byrne, that you’re back in 
safety.” 

Both spoke in Irish. “ Did you see him, Dennis ?” 

“ I did. I saw him, and think he is safe.” 

“ Oh, thanks be to God I” exclaimed Nora, while tears 
flowed over her cheeks. “ Now tell me about it, dear.” 
He told her. “Oh, how glad this news will make the 
broken heart in there I Dennis, she’s been drooping like 
a flower when the first bitter wind from the Reek blows 
on it ; but, oh, Dennis Byrne, there’s worse news for you 
to hear yet!” 

“ What ?” he asked, while his cheek paled. 

“ The lady and her children are poor, — so poor, — so very 
poor, Dennis. You and I, with our strong arms and 
stout hearts, is richer than they,” said Nora, with a short 
sob. “ Glendarilf is theirs no longer.” 

“ Not theirs ? Whose then, in the name of the world, 
is it ?” 


60 


NORA BRADY^S VOW, 


‘^And who but Donald Dhu More, the vile informer, 
that’s a disgrace to his blood, his name, and his country, — 
who but be is master now at Glendariff ? He wasn’t like 
a hound at Mister Halloran’s heels for nothing.” 

I wish I could put my heel on the murdering villain’s 
neck I for, by my soul, I’d scorn to touch him with my 
hand,” said Dennis, bitterly. 

All this time, and it was not long, Nora was getting a 
meal together for the beggar-man, and the soldier from his 
post watched them narrowly. 

When you put that plate down beside me, a suillish 
mahuil agus maaliree,'^ take up the lock of hair I’ll put 
down. It’s his. Take it to Mrs. Halloran, and give it to 
her with his love, and tell her he’s safe, and by this time 
is across the sea.” 

Nora did as she was directed, with great dexterity, and 
thrust it into her pocket just as Sergeant Hazel came into 
the kitchen, ostensibly for a drink of water, but in reality 
to see what was going on. 

An’ now, you pittioguey^^ broke out Nora, ^‘there’s a 
dinner for a king ; and if you’re a good Christian you’ll 
thank God for it. And you’re welcome in His holy name. 
Could you stop a minit, sir?” she said to the sergeant. 
“ I must run up and see what Mrs. Halloran wants : 
may-be it’s a dish of tay, poor lady : she didn’t ate a morsel 
to-day, by rayson of the headache that’s racking her, 
laying the heart-ache out of the bargain ; an’ there’s heaps 
of silver laying about on the dressers, spoons and the like, 
that it would be easy to slip in a wallet like this.” 

Dennis Byrne’s honest, handsome face flushed crimson. 
He could pretend to be a fool, a rebel, and a Avandering 
beggar ; but, when it came to thief j he could scarcely hold 


Light of my eyes and heart. 


NORA BRADY’S VOW. 


61 


his peace. But he did, right manfully, and Nora, with a 
mischievous twinkle in her eyes, ran up to cheer Mrs. 
Halloran with the tidings she had to impart. 

She was lying on her couch, — the same low couch that 
her husband had left her sleeping on, the night of his de- 
parture. She was very pale and still. She had shed but 
few tears, and exhibited scarcely any emotion. Father 
McCarthy had seen her every day ; but even he could not 
rouse her from the passive heaviness of her grief. The 
delicate bloom had waned and faded entirely from her 
beautiful face, her eyes had grown larger and brighter, and 
her fingers were ever in motion, tapping on the back of a 
book, or writhing and twisting around each other, or tear- 
ing to shreds, scraps of paper and the flowers that little 
Grade brought her every day. She never spoke unless 
some one addressed her, but lay, the live-long day, silent, 
prostrated, and hopeless. Whenever the little children 
came in and hung caressingly around her, she would kiss 
them gently and send them away ; and the innocent ones, 
awed into silence by her strange mood, would slip away 
with noiseless steps, glad to go from the darkened room 
out into the air and sunshine. 

“ How are you feeling now, maire ban asthore , — my 
own dear loving lady said Nora, kneeling down beside 
her, and taking up the long, slender hand to caress. 

^‘Well, — well enough,” she said, without unclosing her 
eyes. 

“ I have news, — good news,” whispered Nora. 

Mrs. Halloran started up, and, pushing back the long 
curls from her face, gazed wildly at Nora, then, letting her 
hand fall heavily on the girPs shoulder, whispered, “ Is 
it real, or am I dreaming ? I have had so many dreams 
like this.” 

“ It is no dream, asthore, but awake you are ; and don’t 
6 


62 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


for the world’s sake cry out, for fear them that’s on the 
watch will suspect us. Dennis Byrne’s come back. He 
saw him : he is well, and is by this time over the say.” 

^‘Escaped I Alive! Well!” gasped Mrs. llalloran. “My 
God, I thank thee. But is there no message — no ” 

“ There is,” said Nora, interrupting her while she took 
out the crisp, glossy curl of hair. “ He sent this to you 
with his heart’s love ; an’ that is all I know. We was 
watched all the time, an’ it’s all I could learn.” 

Mrs. Halloran laid the curl in the palm of her hand, and 
gazed fondly and dreamily on it, then pressed it to her 
lips, her forehead, her bosom. “Oh, John! iny John 1 
my husband !” she whispered ; “ my noble John !” Then 
a tear like a single, heavy rain-drop fell on the dark hair, 
where it lay like a gem. 

“Yes,” said Nora, who saw that tear, and hoped it was 
the harbinger of others ; “for such a one as he to go wan- 
dering in a strange land, — may-be sick, and anywise lone- 
some an’ homeless !” 

“ Oh, my husband ! why cannot I be with you in 
poverty and exile ?” Then tears began to flow more freely. 
“ Where is he, Nora Brady ?” 

“ I don’t know, ma’am, only that Dennis Byrne seen 
him on Ballyhowry Mountain, where he came to hide.” 

“ Hide ! John Halloran, the noblest and best of God’s 
creatures, skulking like a hunted beast !” cried Mrs. Hal- 
loran, while torrents of tears drenched her cheeks. 

Nora was satisfied. “ The tears will do you good, dear 
lady,” she said, “and in a little while I will send poor 
Grade and Desmond up. The childer’s lost their smiles 
and color, and goes moping around like orphans.” 

“Yes, send them up, — poor little ones!” said Mrs. 
Halloran. “But one word, Nora: where is my cousin 
Donald?” 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


63 


Faith, ma’am, he’s been away these four days. Mrs. 
Shea says he has gone to Dublin ; anywise, it’s a good 
riddance.” 

‘‘ He’s safe — my husband ! my heart’s own love,— safe!” 
said Mrs. Halloran, clasping her hands together. “Angels 
of God guard and guide him I This news gives me life. 
I defy all now, and, trusting in the providence of my 
Father in heaven, I, His creature, will bear all in His 
holy name.” 

Ere long the sound of little feet outside and a timid 
knock on the door were heard. Mrs. Halloran went with 
feeble steps to open it, and found the two children stand- 
ing, with a half-frightened look, on the threshold. She 
stooped and kissed them tenderly, and, folding the little 
soft hands in hers, led them to the couch, where, leaning 
against her pillows almost exhausted, she gathered them 
to her bosom in a long, tender embrace. Desmond was a 
noble child. He was now eight years old. His eyes 
were large and blue, his forehead bold and broad, sur- 
mounted by a coronal of short, crisp, curling hair. His 
nose harmonized with his other features, while his moujth, 
without losing the sweetness of childhood, wore an ex- 
pression of firmness and sweetness truly remarkable. 
Grade was five summers old. Her brown hair was 
smoothly braided back from her round, childish forehead ; 
her eyes were blue, and full of thought and gentleness, 
and her complexion very fair and pure. But there was a 
deep, tranquil thoughtfulness in the child’s countenance, 
a tender grace and a calm repose in every movement, 
which had gained for her throughout the demesne the 
sobriquet of “ Little Lady.” Her father used to call her 
Little Poet;^^ for not only would the fair and beautiful 
in nature call forth sweet responses from the child’s soul, 
but her language often expressed the most exquisite 


64 


NORA BRADY'S VOW. 


ideas. A bright star, a rainbow, a rich sunset, the sing- 
ing of birds, the rustling of leaves, and the odor of 
flowers, were the quiet raptures of a life which was full of 
heaven. 

Mrs. Halloran, while holding them in that warm em- 
brace, spoke cheeringly to them, asked them a thousand 
questions, which dispelled their timidity and soon won 
them to smiles. 

But, mother,’^ said Desmond, where is my father ? 
And what are these grim, ugly soldiers doing at Glenda- 
riff ? If I was a man, mother, I’d let them know what it 
was to stay where they were not wanted. Why does 
not father come home 

He has gone a long journey, my boy. He has just 
sent his love to you; but you must tell no one.” 

Not tell that my father sent his love ? — Oh, mother !” 

No, Desmond : you must not speak to any one except 
myself. Come always and talk to me about him.” 

Would they kill him, if I did ?” 

They might. They are watching and waiting here 
for him, to put him in prison, because he loved his country 
too well ; but he is safe and far away from them ; but 
they must not know it yet.” 

“ Mother ! That is the reason they called me a little 
rebel the other day,” cried the boy, while indignant tears 
forced their way into his eyes. 

“ Yes. Now you will be careful, for dear father’s sake, 
both of you ?” 

Yes, mother.” 

‘‘Yes, mamma,” said soft-voiced little Grade ; “but I 
shall never, never see my papa again.” 

“ Child, do not say so,” said Mrs. Halloran, holding her 
off, and looking eagerly and anxiously to see if there were 
any signs of illness in her face ; but she could see none, 


NORA BRADT& vow. 


65 


and, kissing her tenderly, she sent them away until 
evening. After that the child used to come every day to 
talk, in a low voice, about her father, asking a thousand 
questions, while her quivering lips and flushed cheeks 
betrayed how often her heart was full almost to agony. 

Thus some weeks passed away, Dennis quite satisfied 
to be a prisoner of war at Glendariff*, and Mrs. Halloran 
and Nora thankful to have him near them. The officers 
and soldiers were civil enough ; and, except that they were 
rigorous in all that appertained to their duty, they cer- 
tainly inflicted no gratuitous insults on the family. A 
message came to Mrs. Halloran one day, — Captain Saun- 
ders’s compliments, and a request that she would meet 
him in the drawing-room on business. Agitated and 
excited, she scarcely knew why, — for she imagined that 
she had drained the cup of her bitterest sorrows in the 
separation from her hiisband, — she wrapped her shawl 
about her and went down. The rugged Scotchman arose 
and saluted her with blunt courtesy, and wheeled a large, 
softly cushioned chair nearer the fire for her use. He 

hoped she was well.” 

‘'Thank you, I am quite well,” she replied, courteously. 

“ Madam,” he said, in his broad Scotch accent, which we 
leave to the imagination of the reader, “ I hope — ahem — 
that what I have to say will not be quite unexpected. At 
any rate, it is painful; but you understand that I am 
vowed to military obedience and the like, and therefore 
am only the medium of those in authority.” 

“ Does it concern my husband, sir ?” she broke in. “If 
it does, for God’s sake let me hear it, without a waste of 
words. Has Mr. Halloran fallen into the hands of the 
government?” 

“ I fear — that is — ahem — believe not, madam. There 
is a rumor that he has escaped.” 

6 * 


66 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


Thank God I ’’ she ejaculated. 

But his estate, madam, — you know that in these un- 
fortunate cases estates are generally 

Confiscated, of course,’^ she said, quietly. 

^‘But here is a letter, madam, for you. It came from 
Dublin with my official papers to-day, and will probably 
explain the thing more to your satisfaction than I could 
do.’’ Mrs. Halloran tore open the letter, and read : — 

My dear Cousin : — 

“ The government, as a reward for services rendered, 
has been pleased to bestow on me a grant of the Glen- 
daritf estate. Do not, however, allow this to alter any 
of your plans, or cause you to leave until it is perfectly 
convenient. If I can serve you, command me. 

“Your affectionate kinsman, Donald More.” 

“ I understand the matter fully, now, sir,” she said, 
calmly, but deadly pale. “Mr. More is now the master 
of John Halloran’s possessions.” 

“ He is, madam.” 

“ I presume he has been engaged in the honorable 
occupation of discovering and denouncing from time to 
time those brave men who have proved how well they 
loved their country by sacrificing everything for it. He 
has, Judas-like, sold his honor, his kindred, his country, 
for gold ; and, base as he is, England, still more base, 
rewards him with honors and possessions. In short, 
Donald More is an informer!” she said, with withering 
scorn. 

Captain Saunders shrugged his shoulders, then handed 
her the official documents, which corroborated all that 
her kinsman had written. 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


6t 


Will you please to write, sir, and say that I shall leave 
Glendarilf in two days 

“ Madam, said the officer, touehed with profound 
respect for grief borne with such submissive dignity, “ do 
not go. Make some arrangement with this man. lie is 
your Ivinsman.” 

Never, sir I No consideration, although I am next to 
houseless, would induce me to remain. There is a fragment 
of land on which stand a few scattered ruins, bequeathed 
to me by ancestors, which cannot be alienated, to which 
I shall retire. I thank you now for the consideration you 
have shown toward me and mine. A different person 
might have added much bitterness to my sorrows. 
Adieu !” said Mrs. Halloran, rising from the chair and 
retiring with dignity from the apartment. Here her 
courage failed her, and for a few moments a storm of in- 
dignation and grief shook her to the soul. When it passed 
away, she rang for Nora, then, opening her cabinet and 
bureau, she began to wrap her jewels and valuables in 
separate parcels. 

I am here, ma’am. Can I do anything for you ?” said 
Nora, coming in. But what in the world’s name are you 
afther, Mrs. Halloran ?” 

“Nora, listen, my friend : we are to leave Glendariff ; 
it is ours no longer.” 

“ Sold, ma’am ?” said Nora,* choking back her tears. 

“ Sold ! Yes. Sold for John Halloran ’s life ; the pur- 
chase-money is paid in his exile and the ruin of his 
family. My cousin, Donald More, is now master of Glen- 
dariff,” she said, bitterly. 

“The black, murthering informer ! May St. Patrick’s 
curse rest on him!” cried Nora. “It’s just what I 
thought he’d do, so I did. I knowed he was false-hearted 
to the core ; and now he’s robbed what’s worse than the 


G8 


NORA BRADY^S VOW, 


widdy, for whin a woman lays her husband in a quiet 
grave, knowing his soul to be in the hands of a merciful 
God, she knows that what’s done is right an’ best, an’ not 
like he was druv out into the wide world, without home 
or friends, in a strange land, laving his wife an’ children 
disolate an’ broken-hearted, with a traitor to the fore to 
rob an’ rack-rent and prosecute his orphans. Ochone !” 
cried Nora, wringing her hands. ‘‘ It’s a hard trial, maire 
ban astliore, my darling, but there’s a God above us, an’ 
he hears me now,” she said, snatching Mrs. Halloran’s 
crucifix from the oratory, and holding it up toward 
heaven, “ and the Blessed Virgin hears me say, on the 
cross of her dear Son, that I’ll spend the rest of my life 
for them that’s been all to me, nor think of me own until 
they come to their rights ag’in. Now rest aisy, Mary 
asthore ; you’re not frindless ; and what Nora Brady says, 
that she’ll do.” 

Nora ! Nora I Why did you do it ?” exclaimed Mrs. 
Halloran. “ I cannot permit it. Your life and happiness 
shall not be wasted because mine are. We have a home, 
— a poor one, it is true, — where, by the sale of my jewels, 
we can live. The old Abbey lands will shelter us and 
give us food. You shall come with me, — you and Dennis 
Byrne.” 

Dennis Byrne ! of course Dennis will stay there ; he 
can farm and do the likes ; but for me ! I’m going to look 
for Mister Halloran the minit we hear he gets to Ameriky, 
an’ work — work my fingers off till there’s a home there 
ready to bring ye all together once more. — ThaVs what 
I’m going to do; for Ireland’s no longer a place for the 
Irish, an’ you an’ the childer shall not stay here like orut- 
casts. When I do all I want to do, if I’m not too ould, 
an’ Dennis Byrne does not change his mind, we’ll go 
before the priest.” 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


69 


Let us begin to get ready to leave Glenda rilF. Tell 

Dennis and Mrs. Shea 

Mrs. Shea, madam ! Mrs. Shea will stay to keep 
house for the born villain that^s coming,^’ cried Nora. 
^‘Oh, it was beautiful, sure, to see what cronies they got 
to be, an^ how polished she was with the sogers 1 Mrs. 
Shea, indeed!’^ 

Well I well I’^ said Mrs. Halloran, wearily ; ‘Met us 
prepare to go.^’ 

“ Of course we must, ma’am. I wish it was to-night, 
since Glendariff’s no longer in the family. My pride’s up ; 
an’ if I only had Donald More here now, I’d make his hair 
rise on his head with the harangue I’d give him.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


“I’m biddin’ you a long farewell, 

My Mary kind and true; . _ 

But ril not forget you, darling, 

In the land I’m going to. 

They say there’s bread and work for all, 
And the sun shines always there; 

But I’ll not forget Cld Ireland, 

Were it fifty times as fair.” 


The next day a police-constable, attended by four sub- 
ordinate officials, made his appearance at Glendariff. 
“ He had been sent down from Dublin, he informed 
Captain Saunders, “by Donald More, Esq., to protect 
the property, and see that nothing except Mrs. Hallo- 
ran’s personal effects were removed from the house.” 

“YouVe come on a braw errand,” said Captain Saun- 
ders, with bitter irony, “ an’ one weel suited to such a 
hoodie craw. There na mickle to fear for yer thrapple, 
as there’s only a desolate ladye and twa bairnies to spend 
your valor on. Yes, yes, your documents are all correct. 
You will have perfect indeemnity for any audacity you 
may commit ; but, I rede ye, no insult to the ladye. None 
of us,” and a burning spot glowed on the cheeks of the 
honest old Scotchman, — “none of us were sent hereto 
interfere with her.” 

The brutal countenance of the man expressed merely 
a blank and passing look of amazement and annoyance. 
He evidently had not expected such a reception, and 
( 70 ) 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


n 


could he have understood the meaning of that the old 
officer said, he would have sent up to Dublin no favor- 
able report of his loyalty. As it was, the cool irony of 
his tone, and the uncourteous reception he gave him, 
stung him in such a manner that, had he been with 
his equals or his inferiors, he would have given vent 
to the rage which he now thought it most prudent to 
suppress. 

It’s the law, captain; it’s not me, sir. It’s the law. 
They might all go to the devil, sir, headlong, if the law’d 
let ’em, an’ I’d not put a jack-straw in their way,” he re- 
plied, sullenly. ‘‘ But somebody must see this Mistress 
Halloran, and read these documents to her.” 

“ Come with me,” said the old soldier, rising from his 
chair, and striding through the hall toward the drawing- 
room, which he had seen Mrs. Halloran enter, with her 
children, a short time before. He tapped lightly on the 
door, which was opened by Desmond, who sprang back, 
and stood scowling at him, while the veins in his fore- 
head swelled out, and his clinched fists were extended 
forward. Captain Saunders laid his large, brawny hand 
gently on the boy’s head, and passed in. Mrs. Halloran 
arose, with her accustomed grace and courtesy, to re- 
ceive him, although the appearance of a stranger with 
him evidently agitated her. She was every instant ex- 
pecting news from her husband, and if this was the 
messenger who had come to tell her he was taken, she 
must die. So she thought ; and Captain Saunders, who 
read her fears in her pale, anxious countenance, hastened 
to relieve them, by saying, — 

Do not be alarmed, madam. This gentleman, who 
is of the law, has only come down from Dublin on a mere 
legal formula, which, I believe, is usual on such occasions; 
and I, thinkin’, perhaps, as you have — no, ahem — no 


^2 


NORA BRADY^S VOW, 


friend near ye, took the liberty of breaking the business 
to you.’’ 

“ Thank you, from my soul, sir,” replied Mrs. Halloran, 
with a grateful look, and inexpressibly relieved. What 
is your business with me, sir ?” 

‘‘ I was sent down, ma’am, from Dublin, by Donald 
More, Esq.” 

“To drive me from the shelter of my own roof,” she 
said, in a calm but bitter tone. “ It were a needless 
precaution, however. I shall leave, as I intended, in the 
morning. It being his, even though unjustly, would be 
sufficient to drive me from it, if I had no other shelter 
than those ruins below us, or the fastnesses of the hills.” 

“ Madam, this relates to the graith and effects belong- 
ing to yoursel’. Look over the in — the precious docu- 
ment: hand it to Mrs. Halloran, sir,” said Captain 
Saunders. 

“ I don’t know that it will be strictly accordin’ to law, 
sir.” 

“ It will. Mrs. Halloran, glance over it. It’s nae a 
fletterin’ document, I’ll admit ; but may-be the sooner it’s 
ower the better,” said Captain Saunders, passing the un- 
folded parchment from the constable’s hands to hers. 

Her eyes ran rapidly over it. A red spot was soon kin- 
dled on each pale cheek, her lips were firmly compressed, 
and he saw, by the fluttering of the lace on her bosom, 
how wildly her heart was throbbing, and knew how sharp 
and deep the blow had struck home. He pitied her. Ho 
thought of his own fair daughters in the quiet vale of 
Kinloch ; and had he dared, could he have done it with- 
out disloyalty, he would have made her wrongs his own. 
After she had read it to the last word, she refolded the 
parchment, handed it back to the man, and, turning to 
Captain Saunders, said, — 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


73 


The treachery of friends and kinsmen is harder to 
bear than injuries received from strangers. My personal 
effects are not numerous, and, if my necessities were not 
so great, I would make Donald More a free gift of them, 
along with the rest I brought John Halloran, still the 
noblest and best of men, though now outlawed and called 
rebel, for that which, had it been successful, would have 
ranked him among the world’s best heroes. I brought 
him but little, except my love and an undying trust in the 
purity of his character. That no tyranny can rob me of. 
Have no fears, therefore, for yourself and your employer. 
I shall give you a list of the effects belonging to me ; he will 
know whether it is correct, and if I am entitled to them. 
When you receive his reply, they can be forwarded to me.” 

But see here, madam ; look at this clause. It will 
save you trouble, and me time,” said the official. “ Here: 
it reads, ‘ Mrs. Halloran knows what articles to remove, 
and will retain only such articles as she is entitled to by 
possession prior to her marriage with John Halloran.’ ” 

“ That is clear enough, madam ; and, if an old soldier 
may advise you, take advantage of it, without giving 
yourself mair trouble,” 

“ Thank you. That will do,” she said, bowing to the 
police-constable. Then her face drooped down in her 
long, slender hand, and she was silent and lost in thought. 
The official left the drawing-room, and the closing door 
roused her. Pardon me,” she said to the old officer, who 
had been regarding her with deep interest; “these things 
come on me like tempests to an uncaged bird. I have 
had but few cares, and but little to think of except 
my own happiness, since my marriage w^th John Hal- 
loran. But there is one question I must ask. Captain 
Saunders. I presume, sir, on your goodness and unex- 
pected friendship, to beg you, as a last favor, to tell me 

7 


u 


NORA BRADY'S VOW. 


if any news has come of the — of — John Halloran, my 
husband.^’ 

“ Madam, I do not know,” said Captain Saunders, 
speaking with the broad accent which made his phrase- 
ology almost unintelligible whenever he was. excited by 
any unusual emotion, that what I have to tell will in- 
volve any principle of duty, under existing circumstances. 
Rumor has made public all I know, and, as our plans are 
all frustrated regarding him, it will do no harm for you to 
know that he is either in France or on his way to 
America.” 

Thank God!” she exclaimed, fervently; thank God! 
Oh, sir, if you knew John Halloran, you would not grudge 
him his liberty.” 

‘‘ Madam, whatever I may feel for you, I have no sym- 
pathy with rebels,” outspoke the Scotchman. 

“ That’s what he called me! that’s what he called me, 
mamma ! How dare you call my father a rebel, you base 
English soldier ? He’s a thousand times bettel* than you 
are ; and if he was here, he’d thrash you away from Glen- 
dariff,” most unexpectedly shouted Desmond. 

“Desmond, my boy !” exclaimed Mrs. Halloran, drawing 
him, flushed and struggling, to her bosom. 

“You are a bold little rebel,” said Captain Saunders, 
laughing, and trying to lay his hand on the brown, curly 
head, which still lifted itself defiantly toward him. “ It 
would be safe to get you out of the country, before you 
begin to give our gracious queen trouble. Madam, I must 
leave you. I wish you well ; and if my presence at 
Glendariff has in any way inconvenienced or distressed 
you, I hope that the fact of its being involuntary on my 
part will excuse me.” 

Mrs. Halloran frankly held out her hand, saying, “I 
only thank the kind Providence that led you hither. You 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 




have been a friend and protector in these sore trials. 
Had another person been sent to Glendarilf, my misery 
might have been aggravated. But I must say farewell. 
In the morning I shall leave this place forever.” 

It did not require much time and labor to select and 
pack the effects Mary Halloran intended to have removed 
to Fada-Brae Abbey. Some antique pieces of furniture, 
beds, and household linen, a few odd old silver vessels of 
the time of Cormac, her husband’s portrait, and three or 
four copper utensils for kitchen use, all of which had be- 
longed to her mother, or herself, before her marriage, and 
most of which had descended through many generations 
to her possession, she took. Her jewels and rich cloth- 
ing, which she never expected to adorn- herself with 
again, she reserved for such contingencies as poverty 
might disclose, to turn, as occasion might require, into 
the available means of living. The' rest, those rich and 
beautiful things which the exquisite and elegant taste of 
John Halloran had gathered around her, and which were, 
every one, consecrated by some cherished association, 
she ieft, or rather abandoned, because in the ruined place 
she was going to she knew there was scarcely a habitable 
room, and that everything superfluous would embarrass 
and inconvenience her. He will scarcely sell or send 
them away,” she thought, as she wandered through the 
hc>use that night, lingering beside each precious memento 
of brighter days: here they are safe, and I shall love to 
ccme in fancy, and people these rooms again with the 
familiar faces which have always been here, and think of 
everything being as he left it and as I saw it last.” 

Mrs. Shea, as Nora had predicted, remained at Glen- 
dariff, and it was difficult to discover whether it was 
from motives of self-interest or really, as she said, to 
kape her eyes on her master’s property, that that thief of 


76 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


the world, Donald Dhu, had got his clutch on, but 
wouldn’t hould it long, if dhrames was to be believed. 
So cheer up, Mistress Halloran, honey, an’ don’t let a 
could thought of me come into yer gintle heart. God 
knows, I’d rayther go ; but if I do, who’ll take care of 
yer own till ye come back again ?” 

Mrs. Shea wept abundantly, and exhibited the most 
genuine emotions of grief, which were quite satisfactory 
to all except Nora Brady, who said nothing, but looked 
sideways, and turned the end of her pretty retrousse nose 
a little more toward the zenith than nature intended. The 
baccah man, with his snuff-colored wig and ragged gar- 
ments, had suddenly disappeared ; and when the cars came 
up from Kildare to take Mrs. TIalloran’s effects to the dis- 
tant glen of Agerlow, one of them was driven by a stout, 
handsome young fellow, whom Nora called ^‘Cousin 
Dennis,” and who was recognized by Captain Saunders’s 
orderly as the blacksmith who had shod his horse a few 
weeks before. 

It is no wonder they did not recognize him as the 
lame beggar who had been limping so many days about 
Glendariff, whose barbarous phraseology and idiotic 
speeches made them entirely unsuspicious of his being 
any other than just what he appeared, a harmless simple- 
ton. It would be impossible to convey in mere words 
the bitter anguish that surged through Mary Halloran’s 
soul when she saw the last glimpse of her home. It had 
been her Eden, but now, driven by inexorable circum- 
stances beyond its gates, the world appeared to her, as 
it had done to our common mother. Eve, ages ago, when, 
driven from Paradise, she went forth to a pilgrimage of 
bitterness and tears. In that hour of farewell, in that 
little space of time, more earth-ties were broken and 
torn asunder than sometimes happen in a long lifetime. 


NORA BRADY’S VO^Y. 


n 


The weight of years had seemed to fall suddenly on her, 
and the world stood revealed in its bare mockery to her 
gaze. Human hopes had been dashed like frail crystal 
vases to the earth, and broken; human joys had sung 
their brief summer song, and fled. And it is well, O 
merciful God, when the bleak tem}3ests of life tear away 
from this mortal existence its illusory charms ; for even 
when tbe shadow is darkest, when we falter and stumble 
in the gloom, we can see, through the clouds above us, 
glimpses of that light which never fades, and which is 
Hope’s beacon, smiling and luring us to the land of 
eternal repose. 

She said but little as they journeyed along. The 
struggle was a silent and bitter one ; but gradually the 
recollection of a merciful and overruling Providence, the 
tender love of the Holy Virgin, and thoughts of these 
sorrows being, like life, transitory, soothed her mind. 
Then came back the memory of her little ones, and the 
devotion of Nora, to cheer her. These were deathless: 
such love and such principles flowed only from God, and 
she felt that, even in her desolation, there were rills of 
gladness, and a staff on which her weakness might lean, 
which would blossom like the prophet’s rod. And the 
mourner lifted up her head, not rejoicing, but peaceful, 
and resigned to the will of her Father in heaven. 

Situated on a beautiful and picturesque hill-side which 
overhung the glen of Agerlow, the ruins of the old feudal 
castle and abbey of Fada-Brae presented an imposing 
spectacle from a distance. Had it been on the Rhine, 
painters, tourists, and poets would have immortalized it; 
but here it was scarcely known beyond the obscurity of 
the valley it overlooked, and the sketch-books of a few 
antiquarians who had visited it more by chance than in- 
tention. And yet its architectural beauties, some of 


^8 


NORA BRADTS VOW, 


which remained intact, were wonderful, and vindicated 
eloquently the civilization and perfection of science in 
the early ages of Ireland. There were the graceful arches, 
the crusted marbles, the stupendous buttresses, the fan- 
tastic gargoyles, the stained glass, which are only imi- 
tated in this our day, the splendid architrave, the mass- 
ive pillars, the groined roof, the rich sculpture, — which 
time had mildewed, but not erased, — had broken and 
made ruins of, but not destroyed the fragments, each one 
of which told a proud tale of other days. And now to 
the ruined halls of their ancestors the last descendants of 
the princely McCarthy Mores had come, seeking refuge 
and shelter. The fox had made his hole, and the cony 
his burrow, and the owl her nest, in the long-deserted 
ruins. There was scarcely a portion of them sheltered 
from the weather. But in the old cloisters, once the 
holy retreat of saintly men, some small apartments were 
discovered by Nora and Dennis, which in a short time 
were rendered habitable, and in a few days Mrs. Hal- 
loran was comfortably situated, and things around her 
began to wear a home-like and pleasant aspect. Dennis 
exchanged some old silver for a cow and a few neces- 
sary farming- implements, while Nora, after attending 
to Mrs. Halloran’s comfort, arranged her kitchen with 
the same faultless neatness that had always reigned in 
the one at Glendarilf, and privately instructed Ellen, the 
children’s nurse, in the mystery of cooking and getting 
up linen. As Nora was beginning to prepare for her 
flight beyond the sea in her search after John Halloran, 
she was impatient, in the single devotion of her honest 
heart, to commence her toils in the far-off land she was 
going to, for which she would receive gold that would 
purchase comforts, and perhaps a home, for those she 
loved. One day Dennis Byrne came up from the market 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


19 


town with a letter for Mrs. Halloran. ^ It was a thick, 
heavy letter, but the direction was in Father McCarthy’s 
handwriting. Nora saw that, but,- filled with a strange 
hope, she laid down her work and ran in with it to Mrs. 
Halloran, who tore off the envelope, and found within a 
note from Father McCarthy, and a letter from her hus- 
band. With a cry of joy, she opened and read it. It 
was from Boston. He had arrived there in safety, and, 
except that he was fatigued with the voyage, he was 
well, and expected to obtain employment, which would 
enable him to provide a home, in the land of his exile, for 
his family ; but his movements were undecided, and he 
besought her to remain in quiet and hope until she heard 
from him again. And then followed an account of his 
adventures after Dennis Byrne had left him on Bally- 
howry Mountain ; how, in the disguise of an old woman, 
he had got on board the smuggler’s craft, and had nar- 
rowly escaped an English cruiser in the Channel, and 
been almost shipwrecked on the coast of France, after 
which his progress was comparatively unobstructed by 
dangers or delays until he reached in safety the shores 
of America. Then came a thousand expressions of en- 
dearment and anxious solicitude ; questions, and words 
of undying love, and messages of affection to all, es- 
pecially to his '‘little dove” Grade, whom, he said, he 
would give all the world just to fold one moment to his 
bosom. He thought of Desmond, he said, as of a young 
eaglet, who would protect the nestlings at home, who 
would be a brave, good boy until his father came back. 
He was ever before him, with his flashing eyes and proud 
bearing, and it comforted him to know that the boy had 
in him all the elements of strength necessary to the 
formation of a great and good character. Nora and 
Dennis were named with affection, and many were the 


80 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


grateful messages that came to them; then followed 
words of cheer and full of hope. John Halloran was 
throughout the letter. His goodness, his nobleness of 
soul, his kind thoughts for all, were perceptible in every 
word, until the family at Fada-Brae thought almost that 
he had been in their midst. 

Father McCarthy’s note informed Mrs. Halloran of his 
increasing infirmities, and of a bad cold, which had con- 
fined him to his bed. Her sorrows weighed heavily on 
him in his old age, but he trusted the letter he sent her 
would cheer and comfort her. As soon as he could get 
about, she would see him ; and any letters she might 
wish to send to her husband she could inclose to him. 

That night, as Mrs. Halloran was sitting alone by her 
sleeping children, Nora came in quietly, and said she 
wmuld like to speak to her, if it would not interrupt her. 
Since the change in Mrs. Halloran’s fortunes, instead of 
behaving with greater familiarity, Nora had treated her 
with almost scrupulous ceremony, and had impressed it on 
the minds of Dennis and Ellen that they must never show, 
by word, or look, or act, their consciousness of the down, 
fall of the family, but must make up by their respect what 
was wanting in the rest of the world toward her. 

“ To be sure, Nora dear,” replied Mrs. Halloran. 
‘‘Come in. I feel almost happy to-night. Oh, Nora, 
God has been very good to me,” said she, holding out 
her hand, while her eyes filled with tears. Nora took the 
hand and folded it to her bosom, then kissed it, and laid 
it tenderly down where it was resting when she came in. 

“ Sit down, dear Nora ; sit here, and tell me all you 
have to say.” 

“ This will do, suillisJi machree,^^ she said, kneeling 
beside Mrs. Halloran, and laying her hand on hers. “ I 
feel easier so ; for I can look right into the face of you.” 


NORA BRADY'S VOW. 


81 


Well, as you please. Yovlts is like sunshine to me, 
Nora, always. But what is the matter? — what do you 
wish ?” said Mary Halloran, smoothing her hand over the 
glossy black braids on Nora’s forehead. 

“Well, alanna 1 I’m thinking, now, that, if you can 
spare me, I’d better go.” 

“ Go I Nora Brady 1 Would you leave me ?” exclaimed 
Mrs. Halloran. 

“ Let me tell you, mavourneen, how’ it is. It’s not for 
myself or my own interests that I’d be goin’, but then as 
Misther Halloran is gone over the seas to Amerikey, an’ 
they say, he can never come back again, and as the fine 
ould property’s gone out of the family, and although this 
is a grand and ancient place, it is poor, and will not sup- 
port the wants of a lady and two childer, that are high- 
born like yersel’, I thought, as I’m young an’ strong, I’d 
better cross over to Amerikey too, and aim enough to 
bring you there, where, please God, we’ll all be together 
once more ; an’ if we never see Ould Ireland again, we can 
be true to her in our hearts, and pray for them that’s left 
in it.” Here tears gathered and flashed in Nora’s fine 
black eyes, while Mrs. HaUoran, comprehending at once 
all her unselfish devotion, fell forward on her neck weeping 

“ How can I spare you, Nora ? Yet how to refuse you 
I cannot tell,” at last said Mrs. Halloran. 

“ Spare me, madam ! Why, there’s Ellen I’ve been 
drilling an’ taching until she bates myself out entirely, 
and a faithful, good, quite girl she is, and handy at every- 
thing ; an’ Dennis — why, Dennis can do anything he sets 
his hands to, sure, an’ willing enough he is now for me to 
go. Then, madam, there’s Misther Halloran, he might 
want some better friend by him than strangers if he’s sick 
or in trouble, an’ I know I could do many a thing for him, 
if so be he hasn’t got a start yet — God save him.” 


82 


NORA BRADrS VOW, 


Mary Halloran was silent and thoughtful. Nora’s last 
argument had almost persuaded her. Still, she felt so 
dependent on her, and had been so accustomed to seeing 
her about her, that, in view of the great uncertainty of the 
success of her plan, she could not at once consent to it. 

^‘America is a country of great extent, Nora. Suppose 
my husband should have left Boston : you’d find yourself 
in a strange country, friendless and unprotected,” she 
suggested. 

Surely, ma’am, you ought to know by this time that 
I’ve a tongue in my head and wits sharp enough to find 
him,” said Nora, quickly. 

But it takes money I” 

Troth an’ I know that ; an’ it’s enough I’ve got to take 
me there, an’ a little over,” she said. 

^'Nora, dear, you undertake a great deal. Do not let 
your affection for me and mine mislead you. I confess, it 
would comfort me to know that you were near my hus- 
band ; but to send you forth into the wide, cold world — 
across the perilous ocean — away from the shelter of my 
home, and from one who loves the earth you tread on, — I 
cannot do it, Nora, even for John Halloran’s sake.” 

Then, ma’am, I must go without your consent, be- 
cause I know, an’ God knows, that it will be well in the 
end. I am ready to go away in the morning.” 

“ Oh, Nora I oh, Nora Brady ! can I ever requite your 
love ?” said Mrs. Halloran, in a broken voice. Since 
you will, may Heaven bless you ; may good angels guide 
and guard you. Go, and should you find my husband, 
give my heart’s best love to him. But I must write ; 
there are some jewels I must send him to purchase com- 
forts with. Oh that I might go with you !” 

That day week, Nora Brady was on her way, in the 
fine packet-ship '‘Fidelia,” to Boston. 


CHAPTER VII. 


Her heart with love teeming, her eyes with smiles beaming, 
What mortal could injure a blossom so rare? 

Oh, Nora — dear Nora — the pride of Kildare!” 


Notwithstanding Nora’s noble purpose, — the prin- 
ciple of right which governed her, and the strong will 
which animated her impulses and actions, — notwith- 
standing the bright and almost romantic hopes which 
had impelled her to brave the perils of the deep and un- 
known trials in a strange land, there were times when her 
heart almost failed her, — when memory led her back to the 
sweet glen and the sunny braes of Agerlow, to deserted 
Glendariff, and the fond hearts she had left behind her, 
and tears fell fast and warm. At such times a decade of 
her rosary was her best comfort; her next was to go 
among the poor emigrants who crowded the steerage of 
the ‘‘ Fidelia,” many of whom were old and white-haired, 
to whom it had been a grievous trial to leave the sod 
where their fathers slept in hope, to go away to die and 
be laid among strangers. There were little children, also, 
who were sick and pining for fresh air and nutritious food, 
to whom the pent-up atmosphere of the steerage was a 
slow poison, and the undulating motion of the ship incom- 
prehensible and terrifying; Nora Brady was not one to 
stand idle in such scenes as these wasting time and ener- 
gies over the inevitable past and in vague fears for the 
future. Her stores were abundant, and, had they been 

( 83 / 


84 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


less so, she would have shared them with those who 
needed aid. In the effort to cheer and strengthen others, 
she often scattered the clouds which were gathering over 
her own heart, and filled it with sunshine. She inspired 
the desponding with courage ; she brought smiles to the 
countenances of the old emigrants by singing the sweet, 
merry songs of home’’ to them. Her busy hands were 
never idle. She cleansed the sleeping-places of the sick, 
and prepared food for those who were unable to prepare 
it for themselves. The little ones hailed her coming with 
outstretched hands or clamorous shouts; and in all that 
band of poor, heart-weary exiles there was not one whom 
Nora Brady had not, in some way, served. And yet, if 
any one had told her that her conduct was extraordinary, 
that she was performing great and meritorious acts, she 
would have wondered how the performance of apparent 
duties deserved remark or eulogy. God had endowed this 
noble creature with the best instincts of humanity, which, 
nurtured by a living faith, made her what she was. Yet 
Nora was not a saint. Nora was not highly educated. 
She was ignorant of all those accomplishments so valued 
by the world : yet was Nora a true heroine. 

One afternoon a sad, listless feeling came over her, and, 
stealing away from the group which surrounded her, she 
sought a retired and sheltered part of the deck ; and, seat- 
ing herself on a coil of rope, she looked wistfully back, 
through her tears, toward her own beautiful isle, — the 
land of her birth and love. The sun was setting, and far 
and near, over the crisp waves, shed a glory of crimson 
and gold. In the silent and far distance a few white 
sails were hovering like sea-birds, while all around the 
horizon, wherever she turned her eyes, the heavens 
seemed bowed to the verge of the mighty sea. All else 
of the world, except those broad, rolling billows, seemed 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


85 


curtained away from her sight forever. The solemn and 
glorious deep above her, the restless and fathomless sea 
beneath her, the wall of sunlit cloud and dim shadows 
around her, it is not strange that an inexpressible feeling 
of awe possessed her. 

^‘Iloly Mother,” thought Nora, ^‘perhaps we’ve lost 
the way. How can it be that we can ever find a country 
beyond there, where the sky itseP is hangin’ down like a 
great wall ? But surely I’m losin’ the wits I was born 
with. The same curtain is between me an’ the dear ould 
land I left, and I cannot see it, though I know it is there. 
An’ so I reckon it is with heaven, — oh, I know it. We 
cannot see it, but we know it’s up there beyond our sight; 
that many stand on its bright shore to wait and watch for 
our cornin’ to welcome us to our home. Heaven is a 
beautiful thought! This life’s a dim, stormy sea at best, 
an’ it’s a pleasant thing to know there’s a happy Ian’ be- 
yond, where tears will be wiped from our eyes forever.” 
Then the rosary was slipped out, and a decade dropped 
for a happy death, after which she returned to the group 
she had left with a cheerful countenance and lighter heart. 

A stress of rough weather occurred, which continued 
some days, and the hearts of the bravest of those poor 
landsmen grew timid and fearful amidst the terrors of the 
deep-. The tossing of the ship, the straining of cordage, 
the wild shrieks of the wind, kept them in fear of instant 
death while the storm continued. Nora needed comfort 
now, for she was deadly sick and terrified beyond meas- 
ure, — not at the fear of death, but at the unearthly up- 
roar and frightful sounds which surrounded the ship. But 
at last the tempest lulled, the clouds drifted away in huge 
masses, the wild surges, weary of their own fury, grew 
calmer and more gentle, and at last the sun burst forth in 
all his splendor, and, like an Eastern king throwing his 

8 


86 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


jeweled robe over a rebellious chieftain, in token of for- 
giveness for some dark revolt, now spread a mantle 
of sparkling gold far and wide over the waves. Nora, 
pale and weak, crept from her berth, and, throwing her 
cloak about her, slipped away from the others, and, seek- 
ing her old place on deck, sat down to think of home, 
and have a good cry to herself. A fear was on her 
heart that she should never again see those she loved ; 
that her search for Mr. Halloran would prove fruitless; 
that perhaps she would sicken and die in the strange 
land she was going to. The inadequacy of her resources 
to cope with the difficulties which lay in her way, now, 
for the first time, presented itself. She could not see 
the hand which led her, or penetrate the dim mist of the 
future, any more than she could see beyond the horizon ; 
and, feeling discouraged and out of heart, she thought 
the best thing for her to do, if Mr. Halloran was not in 
Boston, would be to return home in the Fidelia.’^ 

Just then Nora was startled by a wild and agonized 
shriek, and, rushing forward, saw a woman standing on 
the deck, with her eyes and arms uplifted, almost frantic 
with terror. Several of the sailors ran to the spot, and 
those of the emigrants who were on deck hastily joined 
the group. Looking up, she saw a boy, some eight years 
old, clinging to the main-mast, above the last cross-tree. 
To that dizzy height he had clambered, until now, in 
attempting to return, he grew sick and giddy, and looked 
down with a wild and frightened countenance. There 
was a clamor and shouting from the crowd below, which 
bewildered and frightened the child still more, who every 
moment grew whiter and weaker. Suddenly the captain 
of the ship appeared among the excited people. He saw 
at a glance what was the matter, and, commanding in- 
stant silence, inquired to whom the boy belonged, and 
what was his name. 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


87 


*‘ He is mine, sir, an’ we calls him Patsy,” said the poor 
mother, wringing her hands. 

“ Don’t look down, Patsy ; look up,” shouted the cap- 
tain; ^‘hold tight and look aloft. Don’t look down again, 
but feel your way with your feet. That’s right. Look 
up, and tell me how many stars you see through the sun- 
shine. That’s it. Look aloft— look aloft, you young 
monkey, for your life !” 

And so, cheering him and watching his perilous de- 
scent, keeping his keen eye fixed on every movement, the 
captain stood brave and hopeful, while the silence and 
suspense of those around him were so deep and intense 
that the very shifting of the child’s hands and feet on the 
ropes could be distinctly heard. Lower and lower glanced 
the bare feet among the black and weather-stained cord- 
age, while the boy’s hands, strained and bleeding, clung 
like the talons of a bird to the tarred ropes, until he was 
just over their heads, or perhaps a fathom higher. 

‘‘ Fetch me some brandy and water and a rope-end,” 
said the captain to his steward. 

They were brought immediately, and by this time the 
ambitious Patsy was almost on deck. His mother was 
rushing forward, when the captain told her kindly to 
stand aside for a moment. He grasped the unfortunate 
Patsy by his shoulder, and, after making him swallow 
a few mouthfuls of brandy, laid the rope-end over him 
seven or eight times, while the boy capered and danced 
like something frantic. 

“Now, Patsy, my dear, your circulation is restored, 
and you can go to your mother. I don’t think you'll at- 
tempt shortly to clamber up to the ship’s sky-scraper, my 
lad, — a place that no old sailor likes to go to unless there’s 
a dead calm.” 

Laughter and tears and congratulations mingled to- 


88 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


gether over the still frightened child, who, from that 
moment, became the darling of every sailor on board, and 
who, by the time the ship reached Boston, was as expert 
and agile in climbing and going aloft as a monkey. 

This incident brought Nora’s smiles back. It had been 
a good thing for her, those warning words, “ Look aloft ; 
if you look down you’ll fall.’’ She determined from that 
hour to look always ; no matter how great the 
danger and how dreary the storm, to “ look aloft.” And 
when the incorrigible Patsy told her “how dizzy and sick 
he had felt on the main-mast, and how his fingers were 
just slipping from their hold when the captain shouted to 
him to look up, and how, as soon as he did look up, he 
felt strong and steady,” she understood more fully the 
necessity there was for evermore looking up. 

At last the “ Fidelia” was safely moored at her dock in 
Boston harbor, and Nora felt truly that she was a stranger 
in a strange land. Friends were waiting on the pier for 
many on board. The poorest emigrants had a welcome 
from kinsmen who had sent out for them and now waited 
to receive them ; but, in all the crowd, no one thought 
of her ; no eye met hers with a smile and tear ; no rough, 
honest hand grasped hers and bade her welcome. In all 
those ten thousand dwellings no hearth-stone held a warm 
place for Nora. Not in all that city, or in all the broad 
land, was there greeting or welcome for the stranger. It 
was hard to bear ; but Nora looked up, and was comforted. 
Her chest and other things were gathered around her. 
The steward, who was a countryman of her own, knew 
of some respectable people, friends of his, who took 
boarders, to whose house he would conduct her as soon 
as he put himself iu shore trim. 

Thomas McGinnis and his wife received her most 
kindly, and she felt at once that she had found friends. 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


89 


With a few boarders, a small grocery, and two cows, they 
not only lived comfortably, but had saved money and pur- 
chased property, affording another pix)of that, with equal 
opportunities, the Irish are as thrifty as any people under 
the sun. Nora soon inquired if Thomas McGinnis had 
heard of Mr. Halloran. That was the burden of her 
heart; and if “she could get a single trace of him, she 
should feel that her efforts in behalf of those she loved at 
home were not to be unavailing.^’ So she said after she 
had told the good man and his wife her stoiy, or as much 
of it as it was necessary for them to know. But no one 
there had heard of him, although, as Mr. McGinnis re- 
marked, “he might be there fifty times and he none the 
wiser. But I know of a place. Miss Brady,” he said, 
“ where you’d be likely to hear something of the gentle- 
man you’re seekin’.” 

“ An’ where is that, sir ?” asked Nora, leaning forward, 
and speaking earnestly. 

“ Why, bedad, it’s at the ‘ Pilot’ Office, where they get 
news from every part of the known world, especially from 
the old land at home. There’s nothing worth knowing 
turns up, miss, that you don’t see in the ‘ Pilot;’ and Mr. 
Donahoe’s a man that’s not ashamed of his country or his 
religion, but stands up boldly for the interests of both ; and 
as for Mr. Halloran, if he’s been to Boston, lie'll be sure to 
know it. Our boy Willie’s learnin’ the art of printin’ at the 
^ Pilot’ Office, and it ’ud be right handy for you to go 
and ask a few questions yourself.” 

“ When can I go ?” asked Nora, full of hope. 

“ To-morrow, when Willie goes to work,” replied honest 
Thomas McGinnis. 

“And it’ll be a good time. Miss Brady, dear, to be 
inquiring for the situation you was speaking of,” added 
his wife. “ Many’s the poor girl Mr. Donahoe’s befriended 

8 * 


90 


NORA BRADY^S VOW, 


in that way. He’s got the warm side left for his coun- 
trymen, sure, an’ never thinks of trouble when he can do 
’em a good turn.” 

With a light heart, Nora, neatly and becomingly attired, 
accompanied Willie McGinnis to his place of business. 
When they arrived there, the town-clock struck, and the 
boy, finding himself a half-hour behind the time, ushered 
her into the handsome and spacious book-store of the 
“ Pilot” Buildings, and ran with all the speed he could 
to the printing-room. Nora felt abashed and embar- 
rassed at being so suddenly left to depend on her own 
resources, and stood half frightened and undetermined 
whether to stay or go away and beg the favor of Mr. 
McGinnis or his wife to come with her on the morrow. 
A number of persons were passing in and out, and the 
clerks were occupied in packing books to be sent awa}^ 
or waiting on customers. At last one of the clerks 
observed her, and asked her, politely, what she would 
have. 

“ I am waiting to see Mr. Honahoe, sir,” she said, mod- 
estly. 

He is not in at present,” replied the gentleman. He 
is in another part of the building, very busy with work- 
men who are putting up a new steam-power press. Can 
you wait a little while ?” 

If you please, sir.” 

Sit down, then, and I’ll tell him when he comes in,” 
said the clerk, as he hurried away to attend to his duties. 
Nora thanked him, and sat down ; but one hour passed, two, 
three ; it was nearly twelve o’clock, and she still waited. 
Every one who came in, she thought, must certainly be 
the publisher ; but, disappointed, she would watch them 
transact some light business, look over the elegantly- 
bound books, make purchases, and — go away. Fairly 


NORA BRABY’S VOW. 


91 


disheartened, she felt that a good fit of crying would do 
her more good than anything else. She did not know 
the way home, or she would have gone away. No one 
seemed to observe her, or at least no one spoke to her, and 
she had just formed the desperate resolution to address 
one of the clerks, when a quick, friendly voice near her 
said, “ Do you wish to see any one, my good girl 

“ I have been waiting to see Mr. Donahoe,^’ she said, 
rising. 

I am he. What do you want 
Nora, like most of her sex, was a physiognomist, and it 
only required a glance at the friendly face before her, to 
feel reassured. 

“I am very busy, and in a great hurry,’^ he replied; 
but tell me your business.” 

And Nora Brady told her story. With tears in her 
. eyes which she could not keep back, and a low voice, 
whose sweetness was enriched by the slight brogue of 
her speech, she opened her heart. The active, busy pub- 
lisher, who even in Yankee-land is noted for his energy 
and enterprise, was at first restless, and looked at his 
watch ; then he leaned forward and listened with deeper 
attention ; but when she mentioned the name of John Ilal- 
loran he drew a chair beside her and sat down, folding 
his arms, while the most eager interest was depicted on 
his countenance. At last she brought her narrative to a 
close, by asking her hearer ‘‘ if he knew Mr. Halloran, or 
had heard of his being in Boston.” 

“ You’re a good girl, Nora Brady,” said the publisher. 
Of course I know John Halloran, and have seen him too. 
He is my friend. He was my guest.” 

“Oh, then, sir, may God bless you for that word! I’ve 
got many things to tell him in regard to them he’s left 
behind him, and some jewels Mrs. Halloran sent him, in 


92 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


case his money give oat/’ exclaimed Nora, clasping her 
hands together. ^‘And where is he now, your honor 
I fear I cannot tell you that. Mr. Halloran left 
Boston two weeks ago. He went to New York and re- 
mained there a few days, then left for the South.” 

Poor Nora! What a sudden darkness came over her 
faithful heart just at the very instant that she thought all 
was brightest I Gone! Wandering! And she here with 
messages from home for him, and means to aid him. 
<‘Why,” thought Nora, — full of rebellion to this trial, 
but only for a moment, — “ why could not God, who knows 
all things, keep him here 

^‘Because, Nora, God designed to bring light out of 
darkness. It is His way. He brings up the precious ore 
of holy virtues from the depths of the human heart with 
hard blows. The gems most precious to Him are those 
which are cleansed with tears. His ways are past find- 
ing out, Nora Brady; but they are all right: so look up, 
and be comforted.” 

Thus whispered her guardian angel, who loved well the 
humble and pure-minded one he was commissioned to 
guard and guide. 

“Don’t be distressed,” said the publisher, after a mo- 
ment’s thought; “I will put a line in the ^ Pilot’ next 
week, informing Mr. Halloran that letters have arrived 
for him at this office. You must send me the letters. If 
he sees the notice, we shall soon get some tidings of him. 
You’re a good girl, Nora; and if I can serve you I will.”- 

“ The Blessed Virgin have care of your soul, sir, and a 
thousand thanks for your kindness to a stranger, but I 
should like to get a situation.”’ 

“ What can you do ?” 

“ I can turn my hand to anything, sir,” she said, quietly; 
“but at home I mostly cooked, an’ got up linen.” 


NORA BRADY'S VOW. 


93 


^^Yery well. Persons very frequently come here to 
inquire about help, and I will keep you in mind. Now 
you had better go. But where did you say you stopped 
With Willie McGinnis’s mother, sir ; the boy that’s 
at work here.” 

“ Do you know the way home ?” 

“ I’m afraid not, sir: it’s a long way.” 

‘^Stephen, send Willie McGinnis here,” said the pub- 
lisher to a porter who was passing by at the moment. 
“ Here, lad,” he continued, when the boy, flushed and 
expectant, came in ; “ go home with this young woman to 
show her the way, then make a holiday for yourself the 
rest of the day.” 

Every morning Nora hoped that before night she should 
hear something from the Pilot ” Office. She listened with 
strained and anxious ears, as evening closed in, for AVillie’s 
footsteps ; but day after day passed, and no message came, 
and she began to think she was forgotten. She was 
sitting silent and sad one evening in Mrs. McGinnis’s snug 
little parlor, when Willie ran in, and, throwing a slip of 
paper in her lap, hurried back to his supper. She turned 
it toward the firelight, and read, Nora Brady will hear 
of a respectable situation by applying at Mrs. Sydney’s, 
No. 62 Washington Place. No news of Mr. Halloran ” 
dare not write home an’ tell that,” thought Nora, 
with a sigh. No news from Mr. Halloran! Oh, my 
Blessed Mother ! for the sake of that broken-hearted 
mother, an’ the little ones belongin’ to her, help me in 
this strait.” 

Nora, guided by Mrs.' McGinnis, who had to pass the 
place on her way to market, went to Mrs. Sydney’s as 
directed. It was a large, handsomely constructed house, 
but wore a look of faded gentility which impressed every 
one with the idea that its inmates had known better days. 


94 


NORA BRADTS VOW, 


Mrs. Sydney sent for Nora to come into her sitting-room, 
and received her kindly but with a scrutinizing glance. 
The lady herself was old, and had a care-worn expression 
of countenance, and she was dressed in mourning which 
had once been handsome, but was now rusty. Everything 
was scrupulously clean and tidy everywhere. 

“ I suppose you bring recommendations?’’ 

Here is one, ma’am, from the only place I ever lived 
at,” replied Nora, handing her Mrs. Halloran’s recom- 
mendation. 

'‘Really, this speaks well for you, young woman,” said 
the old lady, looking up with a pleasant smile. " I should 
like to engage you ; but before I do I must give you to 
understand fully how you will be situated. Sit down 
there and listen. In the first place, I have a negro 
cook, who will keep you in hot water ; besides which, I 
am compelled to take a few boarders, for I am not rich, 
and you would have to accommodate yourself to their 
humors.” 

"I will endeavor to do right, ma’am ; an’ if, after doin’ 
my part, it don’t suit, I can go away,” said Nora, half 
terrified at the prospect. 

“ Of course you’re a Papist ?” 

“A what, ma’am ?” asked Nora, amazed, for she had 
never heard the word before. 

"A Romanist — a Catholic ?” 

" Oh, yes, ma’am, a Catholic surely,” she replied, 
earnestly. 

“ Well, no need to be riled. We’re all su ’thing or other, 
and it’s right, I guess. I’m a Universalist, but never take 
it on myself to promulge my doctrines to them that holds 
others. Only I’ve had helps that called themselves 
Catholics, and said they confessed to the priest, and went 
to mass, and all that, when, come to find out, they didn’t 


IS ORA BRADTS VOW. 


95 


go at all, but shindied round here and there, visiting and 
frolicking, and neglecting my work ; and I^ve come to this 
p’int, that there’s nothing worse in natur’ than a bad 
Catholic. They’re a disgrace to their religion, and give 
them that’s outside a mighty poor opinion of it, too.” 

Nora listened with surprise and mortification, but said 
nothing. 

''Now, I want you to tell me honestly, do you go to con- 
fession ? — do you go to your duties regular? for, you see, 
if I’ve had bad ones, I’ve had good ones too, and I know 
the difference.” 

"It would seem like praisin’ myself, ma’am, and, faith, 
I never had such questions put to me before, because 
there was no need,” replied Nora, with a bewildered 
look ; " but surely there’s no power in the world could 
make me neglect my religion.” 

"I hope not. It can’t be a religion that’s worth much, 
to be neglected and scandalized by them that belongs to 
it. But, anyways, I want to tell you, if you are a good 
faithful girl, you may go to confession every week, and 
fast whenever you like, and go to mass on Sundays, and 
say your beads, and pray to images, if it does you any 
good, Avhenever you choose ” 

"I only go to confession once a month, ma’am, and 
never pray to images at all,” interrupted Nora, quickly, 
while.a merry smile dawned on her face, in spite of her 
efforts to control it. 

"La suz! Not pray to images! Well, it’s none of 
my business if you did. But there’s another bother in 
your way. One of my lodgers is a very odd-tempered 
old bachelor, — very rich and as stingy, — my ! — HeHl be 
forever quarreling about his wood, and be in a snarl 
about his candle-ends, and scraps of paper. I can promise 
you skrimmages enough with him, Nora, my girl.” 


96 


NORA BRADY'S VOW. 


'^And then, ma’am, he may have his skrimmagin’ to 
hisself entirely, for I’d scorn to waste or rack what didn’t 
belong to me. Is that all, ma’am ?*’ 

“No. I keep only two helps, — Phillis and a white help ; 
and there’s work enough to be done. She does the cook- 
ing and washing, and the other cleans house and irons. 
I give her eight dollars per month; the other gets the 
same. Now, what say you ?” 

“ I can only try it, ma’am. I don’t mind work. I’ve 
been used to it all my life. I suppose I should find trials 
everywhere and in every situation : so, if you please. 
I’ll come in the morning, if that’ll suit.” 

“ In the morning, of course. Be here by six o’clock. 
I think we shall get on ; for, Nora, you look as if I shall 
be able to respect you. Your dress, so plain and neat, 
everything so clean and tidy about you and suitable to a 
young woman who has to earn her living, makes me 
think you have a great deal of self-respect; and it’s a 
good thing for everybody to have.” 

In her new home, Nora Brady found that Mrs. Sydney 
had not exaggerated the difficulties of the situation. In 
the first place, Mrs. Sydney herself was in a continual 
fuss about Nora’s religious practices, and her going to 
confession, so that really, if she had been a bad Catho- 
lic, she could scarcely have fared worse. Mrs. Sydney 
knew that her interest depended considerably on Nnra’s 
religious sincerity and steady morals, and she deter- 
mined that she should not lapse into indifference through 
her neglect. It is the fashion of that region to have an 
“ eye to the main chance” in every particular and phase 
of life, and Mrs. Sydney was like the rest : therefore she 
cherished genuine piety in her help, after her own ideas. 
Then Mrs. Sydney was dreadfully afraid of her black 
cook, Phillis, and would have inspired Nora with the 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 97 

same terror, only Nora soon discovered that Phillis, 
with the keen instincts of her class, knew very well who 
to show her airs to and who not. She was one of the 
rescaed-from-bondage ones, and had been made quite a 
heroine of, when she first arrived at Boston, by the 
‘‘ Equal Rights and Southern Transportation Company,” 
which not only tickled her vanity and self-love, but in- 
spired her with an idea that her friends, after all, were 
only poor white folks, to put themselves down so with 
niggers ; so she ate and drank at their expense, let them 
show her oflT, and dress her, while she laughed in her 
sleeve, and was not much astonished to find herself sud- 
denly dropped when their ends were accomplished. She 
had been in Mrs. Sydney’s kitchen ever since, and pre- 
sumed no little on having heard it said so often that “all 
races were equal,” and the black man as good as the 
white. The insolence of the coarse and ignorant black 
woman, who regarded Nora with no favor, because she 
saw at once how widely they differed, was a sore trial ; 
but after the high-spirited Irish girl had thrown out a 
few flashes from her handsome black eyes, and. told her, 
in a quiet but very firm way, not to interfere with her, 
and had on several occasions helped her through no 
slight difficulties in cooking, she behaved somewhat 
better. Nora did not waste; and Phillis did. Nora 
was* neat and tidy ; Phillis was slovenly and careless. 
Nora was even-tempered and cheerful ; Phillis was like 
a volcano. Nora was close to the interests of her em- 
ployer ; Phillis was wasteful and extravagant. Thus 
between two beings so adverse in race, color, and morals 
there could be no harmony or comfort. But Phillis could 
find no grounds of complaint against Nora, and was 
annoyed and angry to discover that she felt,. in spite of 
herself, a degree of respect for her which she had not felt 

9 


98 


NORA BRADY'S VOW. 


for any white person before, since she left “ Ole Yir- 
ginny.’’ Then came the old lodger, — one of the mer- 
chant princes of Boston, — who snarled and scolded if his 
candles and fire were lit in good time, and stormed and 
swore if they were not, — who split and counted out his 
own wood, and measured the waste of his candles by 
sticking pins at regular distances in the one he used. 
Nora had many a hearty cry to herself, but she had too 
much self-respect to rebel against Mrs. Sydney’s arrange- 
ments or authority, to quarrel with one so much her in- 
ferior as the cook, or dispute with Mr. Mallow about the 
disposal of his own goods. She knew that all positions 
have their peculiar trials, and that wherever one goes he 
shall find the cross, and that it was not by shifting and 
changing homes that she could win respectability or confi- 
dence. Nora knew that human nature is the same every- 
where, and, if she fled from these disagreeable trials at 
Mrs. Sydney’s, where really she found much genuine, 
true kind-heartedness, she might fare worse elsewhere. 

Several times she had inquired for news at the “Pilot” 
Office. She had v^ritten hopefully and cheeringly to Mrs. 
Halloran, once, but told Dennis Byrne, in her letter to 
him, how she was troubled, and inclosed two months’ 
wages, which she charged him to “ use for the comfort of 
those he had the care of, but not for the world let them 
know how it came.” As yet she had received no reply, 
and the light began to fade from her eye, and the crim- 
son from her cheek. “ Hope deferred,” blending with 
sometimes a feeling of home-sickness, gave poor Nora 
many a thrae in her heart, and on two or three occasions 
she thought she was dying, she felt so oppressed and 
heavy. 

One evening, the eve of a great festival, she had asked 
permission and gone to confession. It was bitterly cold. 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


99 


Snow lay deep in the streets, and a drizzling mist of frozen 
snow and rain, lashed by an easterly wind which roared 
savagely in from the bay, almost blinded those who 
encountered it. There were but few persons abroad that 
evening. All who had homes were either there, or 
hastening toward them. Nora drew her cloak closely 
about her, and, pulling her thick veil over her face to pro- 
tect it from the sleet, hurried homeward as rapidly as she 
could through the banks and drifts of snow which were 
every instant accumulating on the sidewalk. Her foot 
struck against something, and she stooped down and 
picked up a tolerably large package, wrapped carefully, 
but wet and muddy. 

A furious blast of wind came howling up the street, a 
chimneyTell not far oif, a quantity of slates from a roof 
came clattering down over her head, but fell clear of her, 
and in the confusion and fright of the moment she thrust 
it into her pocket, soaking wet as it was, and, nerving her- 
self for a desperate struggle with the storm, she at last 
succeeded in reaching home, faint and exhausted with the 
cold. Forgetting entirely the bundle she found in the 
snow, she changed her dress, and, as soon as her strength 
returned, she went about her usual business, with no 
other concern than a fear that she should not be able to 
get to church in the morning. 

When she opened the door of Mr. Mallow’s apart- 
ment, to go in and light his fire, a scene presented itself 
to her which caused her to start back and pause. Two 
candles were burning, one on the mantel, one on the 
floor. Everything in the room was in the wildest dis- 
order. Clothing was strewed here and there, papers 
were scattered in every direction, his wardrobe-doors 
wide open, and the bedclothes tossed in a heap to- 
gether in the middle of the bed, while he sat upright in 


100 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


his leather-backed ehair, as rigid and motionless as if he 
were dead. There was a strange glare in his eyes, and 
Nora feared that he had become suddenly deranged. 

'‘Are you ill, sir she asked, timidly. 

" No,’’ he growled. 

"And what has tossed your room up, sir, so dreadful ?” 
she asked. 

" Be silent, girl ! Is it any of your business ? Let the 
room be. I tossed it.” 

" Shall I light your fire, sir ? it is very cold; and you 
have two candles burning away.” 

" Two candles ! I am mad ! I am ruined ! Put them 
out, I haven’t a farthing to buy another ! No ; I’ll freeze. ” 

" I’m afraid you’re ill, sir,” said Nora, extinguishing 
the candle on the floor. "Let me call Mrs. Sydney.” 

" Call the police ! send for the police 1 I’ve been robbed 
and am ruined,” he growled. 

" Robbed, sir ! Ruined, sir I Lord save an’ defend us, 
but surely you’re mistaken,’’ exclaimed Nora. 

" Robbed, sir !” said the excited old man, mimicking her. 
"Ruined, sir! Yes, robbed of ten thousand dollars. 
Now go away.” 

" God save us, an’ surely that’s a heavy loss,” said 
Nora, with such genuine pity and commiseration in her 
voice that he called her back. 

"I believe you are sorry. Well, keep it all to your- 
self. I don’t wish it spoken of to any one in the house, 
for Mrs. Sydney would go off in a fit of fantods, and by 
six o’clock to-morrow it would be in every paper in Bos- 
ton, and telegraphed from Maine to Georgia. The rogues 
put upon their guard would escape, and I be left to resign 
myself to the loss as I best might. So hold your tongue, 
if you can.” 


NORA BRADY’S VOW. 


101 


I will, sir, if it will be any comfort to you,’’ said 
Nora. 

I believe you. I trust you, because you have never 
wasted my candles or wood, nor opened my wardrobe, nor 
inspected my pockets. Aha ! I have a way of findin;^ 
these things out, but you’re an honest girl, Nora ; but it 
remains to be proved whether or not you can hold your 
tongue.” 

Thank you, sir,” said Nora, leaving the strange old 
man to go down to arrange the tea-table. It’s no wonder 
he’s crazy. Ten thousand dollars ! It’s a great sum, 
surely; an’ I hope in my heart he’ll find it ag’in.” 


9 * 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Sweet it would be once more to see 
The earth where my fathers rest, 

And to find a grave by the sounding wave 
In homeland of the lovely west/^ 


Mr. Mallow’s heavy loss was kept a profound secret 
from Mrs. Sydney and her family, who only observed that 
he had suddenly become more silent and disagreeable than 
usual, and that his cheeks looked more sallow, while, not- 
withstanding all his attempts to steady it, his hand shook 
nervously whenever he lifted his cup or tumbler to his lips. 
But, well acquainted with the peculiarities of his rasp- 
ing, unhappy temper, they supposed that he had failed in 
some speculation, or had met with something in his exten- 
sive business-operations to annoy him. But the detective 
police of Boston and Nora Brady knew all about it. He 
engaged the skillful services of the detectives to ferret out 
the misguided and criminal person who had robbed him. 
He furnished them with a circumstantial description of 
the notes or bills and the wallet which contained them. 
He supposed he was robbed between his place of business 
and home. He was certain of having put the wallet in 
his breast-pocket before he left his counting-room, and he 
had missed it the moment he reached his room. This was 
all the information he could give them ;* but they had 
managed with success more obscure and intricate cases 
than this, and, incited to extraordinary efforts by the 
( 102 ) 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


103 


prospect of a liberal reward, their expectations were san- 
guine. 

Toward Nora Brady the strange old man^s manner was 
fitful, but kind. He frequently called her “ a good honest 
girl,’’ but steadily refused the necessary comforts of lights 
or fire; while she, really sympathizing with him and feel- 
ing sorry for his isolated loneliness, strove in every way 
she could to make him comfortable ; all of which sunk 
quietly down like soft dews into his sterile heart, warm- 
ing it with more human feeling than it had ever known 
before. When Monday morning came, Nora was up with 
the dawn. She had an unusual number of clothes to wash 
that week, and she wished to begin early, to avoid neglect- 
ing her other work. Having gathered the household 
linen, and the few pieces belonging to Mrs. Sydney, to- 
gether-, she unlocked the closet to take out some articles 
belonging to herself to do up, when she observed, for the 
first time, the soiled and muddy appearance of the nice 
mousselaine de laine dress she had worn to confession 
the evening of the storm. Mrs. Halloran had given it to 
her for a birthday-gift some months before, and she felt 
pained to see it so soiled and, as she feared, ruined. 

*‘Agh !” said Nora, taking it down from the peg on 
which it hung. It is easy enough to get the mud out 
with soap an’ water, but my fear is that the beautiful blue 
flowers an’ these roses will come out along with it. But 
it can’t stay so ; that’s certain ; an’, to give it a chance. 
I’ll shake it well, then rub it between my two hands to 
see if I can clean it that way.” 

So, with the dress in her hand, she went round to the 
window, through which the first red sunbeams were steal- 
ing ; and, rubbing the dry mud olf quite easily, she gave 
it one good shake, when something fell with a heavy thud 
to the floor, and, turning quickly, she looked down and 


104 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


saw the package she had picked up in the snow. Nora 
laughed a low, merry laugh at her own forgetfulness, for 
she had never thought of it until that moment, and took it 
up to examine it. It’s an ould thing, anyway,” she said, 
turning it over ; an ould, greasy, ragged budget, an’ if 
there’s thread an’ needles an’ some snuff or tobacco in it, 
it’s about as much as it’s worth. What in the world it 
is I don’t know, an’, faith, I’m afeard to handle it ; there’s 
no tollin’ the fingers that tied it up so tight, or what dis- 
ease was in ’em. Anyway, if it’s anything worth having, 
it’s none of mine, an’ I must see to that at once.” 

By this time Nora had unfastened the numerous strips of 
red tape which were wrapped around it, and unclasped the 
steel fastenings ; then it fell open in her hands. A mortal 
paleness overspread her face, and she sank trembling in a 
chair beside her, exclaiming, “Merciful God, defend me!” 
And well she might be terror-stricken at first, for it was 
stuffed with bank-bills of various denominations, — some 
old, some new, but all of high value. She touched them 
with her fingers, lifting their edges carefully. “One thou- 
sand, two thousand, three, four, five, six thousand ! 
more — more and more 1” she murmured, gazing with a 
half-stupefied look on the treasure. There was a dimness 
in her sight, and a strange singing in her ears. “Ho! 
lucky Nora! Now are your labors ended. You have 
found a great treasure ; your trials are past ; you need 
toil no longer ; you can buy another Glendariff for those 
you so dearly love ; and, best of all, you can marry Den- 
nis. Close up that wallet, you silly child ; it is yours ; 
you found it ; no one claims it. Use its contents and 
purchase happiness.” Thus sang the Tempter of her soul 
to poor bewildered Nora, who sat trembling and numb, 
still gazing down on the bills, when suddenly a move- 
ment of her hand caused a memorandum-leaf to move 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


105 


aside, and she saw, in almost effaced gilt letters, but still 
very legible, the name of “ Steadfast Mallow.’^ In an 
instant the cloud fled, and all was clear. A bright, happy 
smile flashed over her face, and, falling on her knees, she 
thanked God in all the earnest>simplicity of her heart for 
the discovery. I knew, my heavenly Father, that it 
was none of mine; an’ I wouldn’t have held it an hour 
longer in my possession. I would have taken it to the 
dear soggarth,^ thy faithful servant, to be restored to its 
lawful owner, only thou hast shown me what to do, for 
which I thank thee for ever an’ ever.” Then she rose to 
her feet, and, holding the precious wallet close to her 
breast, as if she feared it would fly away, ran with light 
and joyous steps down to Mr. Mallow’s door, where for 
an instant she hesitated ; but, hearing a movement within, 
she knew he was up, and knocked. 

^‘What now, Nora Brady?” he said, gruffly, as he 
opened the door. 

“ Oh, sir, here it is ! Take it, in the name of God ! I 
found it in the street the night of the storm, and forgot 
all about it,” she exclaimed, thrusting the wallet into the 
astonished old man’s hands, as he stood pale and trem- 
bling on the threshold of his door. “It is yours, sir ; 
your name is in it.” 

“ Eh — mine — street — name !” he gasped out, while he 
clutched the wallet, and looked wildly at Nora. 

“ You must have dropped it, sir, that night in the snow. 
I was coming from church, an’ stumbled against some- 
thing, an’ picked it up, an’ it was this. But faith, sir, the 
storm got so wild at that minute, and a chimney fell not 
far off, an’ the tiles come clatterin’ over an’ around me, 
so that it scared the life out of me. I poked it down into 


•S'* Priest. 


106 


NORA BRADY'S VOW. 


my pocket and run for my life, sir; an’ by the time I got 
home, what with being half frozen, an’ out of breath, an’ 
the scare I had, I never thought of the thing again till 
this morn’. I took out my dress to wash to-day, an’ shook 
it, when out tumbled your wallet ; an’, when I opened it, 
sir, I declare to my ould shoes, I was half kilt with the 
fright to see such a power of money in the hands of a 
poor girl like me ; an’ I’m as glad, Mr. Mallow, that 
you’ve got it all safe again as if it was my own,” said 
Nora, rapidly. 

“ Stop, stop. Go away until I count it. Of course it’s 
mine, Nora Brady; but it’ll be a bad thing for you if a 
cent of it is missing,” he said, whil^ his teeth chattered 
with cold, and his whole frame quivered with excitement. 

I’ll ring for you presently.” 

Over and over again the old man counted the bills. He 
lit a candle ; for the light was dim in his room. Excited 
and confused, he put on two pairs of spectacles, and turned 
the notes first on one side, then on the other. He scruti- 
nized the wallet inside and out ; the mud-splotches still 
clinging to it, and the stains of the sloppy place in which 
it had fallen. Then he counted the money all over again. 

“It’s all here; every note. Not even a small gold 
piece gone. She’s an honest girl, — an honest, good girl. 
But she’ll want a great reward. I’ll warrant ; more than 
she’ll get, that’s certain ” 

He then rang his bell, which Nora answered directly, 
for some undefined fears and uneasiness had begun to 
possess her mind. 

“ It’s all right, Nora Brady. It’s all here, just pre- 
cisely as I put it in myself the day I lost it. You are an 
honest girl. Some might suspect you ; but I don’t, be- 
cause you never wasted my wood and candles. Now tell 
me, what do you expect me to give you ?” 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


107 


Give me, sir ? NothiDg,’^ she said. 

‘‘ But of course you expect some reward 

Faith, then, sir, I’m paid enough ta think it’s with the 
right owner. You dropped it, an’ I picked it up ; so it’s 
yours, an’ not mine ; an’ I’m only sorry 1 didn’t think of 
it at first, though to be sure I never dreamed what it was. 
If I had, it would have saved you a deal of trouble, an’ 
you might have had a fire and candles all these cold 
nights that you’ve been without,” said Nora, with sim- 
plicity. 

And 3^011 wish no reward ?” he asked. 

I wouldn’t take a cent, sir, by way of being paid for 
doin’ my duty, to save me from beggin’. It wouldn’t 
seem right; an’ I won’t do it.” 

“ You’re a fool, Nora, — a perfect fool. But remember, 
from this da3", old miser Mallow, as I am called, is your 
friend ; and if at any time I can help you, I will, so help 
me God I” said the old man, with quivering lips. 

Thank you, sir. A time may come for that. But 
breakfast’s almost ready,” she said, going away. 

Halloo I come back here, 3"ou wild Irish jade, — come 
back.” 

‘‘ My work is all behindhand this morning : please to 
say quick what you want,” she said, turning back. 

‘‘ Leave me to speak of this matter to Mrs. S3^dney. 
I don’t like my affairs gossiped about. If you were to 
tell it, some would believe you and some wouldn’t: so it’s 
best to come from me, as I believe every word you have 
said. And, mind, 3mu may light me a fire to-night,” he 
said. 

“And a candle, sir !” said Nora, turning away with a 
light-hearted laugh. 

After breakfast, Mr. Mallow had a long private con- 
versation with Mrs. Sydney in the parlor ; and that same 


108 


NORA ^BRADY'S VOW. 


day, without taking a human being into his confidence, he 
deposited five hundred dollars in the Trenton Bank to the 
credit of Nora Brady. He paid the detectives for the 
trouble and expense they had been at, and silenced their 
inquiries by informing them that he had mislaid his wallet 
and unexpectedly found it. They thought, as he was a 
very rich old man, such eccentric freaks were not only 
allowable, but diverting, and gave themselves no further 
concern in the affair, except to record the case as being 
disposed of. 

Mrs. Sydney only spoke more gently and kindly to 
Nora after that long conference with Mr. Mallow, and 
would frequently lay down her knitting and sewing to 
take a long, earnest look at her, as she flitted around, 
through her spectacles, which, whenever Nora observed it, 
always warmed the blushes on her cheeks, because she 
could not imagine why she had so suddenly become an 
object of such particular interest to the old lady, to whom 
she was becoming attached. She was gradually winning 
friends. Her obliging disposition, her practical piety, 
yes, the practical piety and virtue of an humble domestic, 
caused those who lived in daily intercourse with her — 
persons wdio rejected the most essential truths of reli- 
gion ; of whom some were transcendentalists, and others 
were bitter and bigoted in their errors — to look with an 
eye of interest and respect towards the old creed whose 
precepts her life illustrated with so much simplicity and 
faith. Even Phillis, sticking her arms akimbo, and hold- 
ing her turbaned head back with a sagacious and patron- 
izing air, allowed she was a good gal, an’ not so good 
either that she was goin’ to ’low anybody to trample on 
her. She’s done got me under, honey, an’ how she’s done 
it dis child’s enable to ’spress; case, you see, honey, she’s 
sorter kind in her ways, an’ a sorter proud like ; and, as 


NORA BRADY\S VOW. 


109 


to work, ki ! she outwork me any day. I reckon she^s a 
good gal, if she are a Cafolic.’^ Thus spoke the oracle of 
the kitchen. 

“ Dear suz,” says Mrs. Sydney, ^*it’s nothing that she 
pleases me ; but to think she’s got around and made friends 
with such a high shiftless body as Phillis, and such a tight 
person as Mr. Mallow, is beyond my comprehension. But 
she’s a good girl. She practices her religion, and is never 
ashamed to own up to being a Catholic, and can always 
give a reasonable answer when she is asked questions 
about her faith.” 

And Mrs. Sydney placed unlimited confidence in her. 
The poor old lady, who had always borne her troubles 
and the annoyances of her position with patience, now 
obtained some rest, body and mind ; for Nora could be 
trusted in every particular ; and the girl would have been 
quite happy but for those sad memories of home, which 
came ever, like cold soughs of wind, over the hopeful and 
genial world of her heart. It would have cheered her 
had she received a letter, or even heard where Mr. Hal- 
loran was; but several months rolled by, and she had not 
heard a word either from Ireland or of him. She had 
made other remittances to Dennis for the general fund ; 
and the thought that she was at least aiding to keep away 
the wolf from the door of those she loved, gave her a 
degree of happiness; then, when the shadows darkened 
around her, her firm and loving trust in God would 
brighten the clouds, until the rainbow, Hope, shone out, 
cheering her with visions of brighter and better days. 

Mrs. McGinnis, her friend, had been ill, and, as fre- 
quently as she could arrange her business so as to leave 
nothing undone, she had got permission to go and help 
to nurse and watch with her ; and every time she went, 
Mrs. Sydney would place some little delicacy in her hand 

10 


no 


NORA BRADY'S VOW, 


to tempt the appetite of her sick friend. One night she 
was returning home from her mission of kindness, at- 
tended bj Thomas McGinnis, when, as they were passing 
through an obscure street, they saw three or four men 
standing on a door-step, talking loudly and earnestly, 
while others were passing in and out, men and women 
together. 

“ Is anything amiss, friends, with the widow Blake 
asked McGinnis. 

“ Och, the widdy’s safe enough ; but it’s a gintleman 
that was passing, an’ fell down in a fit, an’ we think he’s 
dying,” replied one of the men. 

An’ have the}^ brought a doctor yet ?” asked Thomas. 

Two or three’s gone for the docther, but there’s none 
come yet; an’, bedad, it’s my opinion that he’ll die before 
one comes.” 

Has any one brought a priest ?” 

One of the boys went for his reverence ; but it’s 
likely he’s not a Catholic, but a pagan, like the rest of the 
people in Ameriky ; for it bates Bannagher itsel’ to tell 
what they b’lieve and what they doesn’t.” 

Thrue enough for you ; but there’s no telling who the 
grace of God is with, and who it isn’t, in a dying hour. 
Anyway, I hope his reverence will come. I will go for 
Hr. Bryant, if you will go in. Miss Brady, and sit with 
widow Blake, who’s a dacent, hard-working crayther as 
ever broke bread.” 

“ Of course I’ll wait, Mr. McGinnis, and see if I can be 
of some use, too,” replied Nora, going into the house, 
and entering a small room which communicated with 
another by an old-fashioned, narrow door. Two or three 
women were sitting around, taking snuff, and suggesting 
to each other a thousand infallible remedies for the sick 
person’s relief, which in their own experience had worked 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


Ill 


miracles. Mrs. Blake now bustled in to get the vinegar- 
cruet, and in her hurry almost stumbled over Nora, who 
said, with a modest air, 1 came with Mr. McGinnis, 
ma’am. He is gone far the doctor, and I shall be glad if 
I can help you at all.” 

“ Well, I don’t know about help, — poor gintleman ! he’s 
dying, I think. I wish to God we could find his friends,” 
said kind-hearted, fat Mrs. Blake, in a distracted manner. 
^‘But come in, honey, an’ see what you think.” 

Nora followed her with a timid step into the small, dingy 
room. On a bed in the corner the sick man lay ; but she 
could not see his face, or even his person, because there 
were two or three women grouped around him, attracted 
by that strange fascination which the appearance of death 
always presents to the living. The atmosphere of the 
room was stifling from the heat of the stove and the 
number of breaths in it, and Nora quietly opened the 
door and raised the window a little way, then resumed 
her seat. A dip candle burned in a tin candlestick, on a 
table which stood in a recess beside the chimney, and the 
flickering shadows it cast on the wall, with the quick, 
gasping sobs of the unconscious man, filled Nora’s heart 
with a nameless terror; a weakness and trembling came 
over her, and a strong desire, which is common under 
such circumstances, took possession of her, to look on the 
sufferer’s face. She approached the bed and quietly 
waited until one of the women moved away, then looked 
down on the white, convulsed features before her. Was 
she dreaming ? Was she bereft of her senses and subject 
to an illusion, that John Halloran’s name was blended 
with the low, sharp cry that burst from her lips ? She 
flew across the room, snatched up the candlestick and 
brought it to the bedside, and, holding it close to the face 
of the dying man, scanned his features, and gently lifted 


112 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


the dark, clustering masses of hair back from his temples 
and forehead. “ It is his blessed self, thanks be to God 
she exclaimed, bursting into tears : it is my poor master, 
Mr. Halloran!’’ 

At that moment McGinnis returned with Dr. Bryant, 
who was soon followed by a clergyman ; and words 
cannot paint the amazement of the whole party when 
they learned that the unconscious man before them 
was the noble, the brave, the beloved John Halloran, 
whom they had all loved without having ever seen. The 
physician ordered the room to be cleared, and requested 
the clergyman and Thomas McGinnis to remain and as- 
sist him. As to Nora, she knelt quietly in a corner of 
the next room, pouring out her soul to God, and pleading 
earnestly for the restoration of the stricken man, who was 
one of that band about whom the tenacious fibers of her 
heart’s warm love had been clinging for years. 

And she felt that her Father in heaven would succor 
him. 

She would now claim help from Mr. Mallow. 

And she thanked God, and felt comforted that in the 
publisher who had so kindly assisted her Mr. Halloran 
had a friend. 


CHAPTER IX. 


Oh, blessed be that warning, my child, thy sleep adorning, 
For I know that the angels are whispering to thee; 

And while they are keeping bright watch o’er thy sleeping, 
Oh, pray to them sweetly, my babj’^, with me. 

And say thou wouldst rather they'd watch o’er thy father; 
For I know that the angels are whispering to thee.” 


The rich autumnal glories, the burnished shadows of 
golden sunlight, were over. The thrush had sung her 
last song on the moss-covered turrets of the ruined abbey 
of Fada-Brae, and a wild, cold wind had swept down from 
the Galties, like an ‘‘ army with banners,” and torn away 
the few withered leaves which had been left clinging, like 
human hopes to earthly promises, to the bare and gnarled 
branches overhead. For two months no letter had come 
from Nora Brady, and, heart-sick with anxiety, Mrs. Hal- 
loran had almost ceased hoping to hear from her husband. 
Innumerable fears assailed her, and her imagination was 
filled with anticipations of some terrible disaster having 
befallen him, — of loneliness, illness, and perhaps death, in 
the land of the stranger. It is true that the roads had 
been almost impassable for weeks, and there was no way 
of sending to Buttevant unless Dennis Byrne walked 
there ; and that was impossible, on account of the frequent 
storms, the swollen streams, and the piled-up snow-drifts. 
Many of her old friends and neighbors around Glendariff, 
Protestants and Catholics, had made a day’s journey to 
see her during the fine autumnal weather, and had cheered 
her somewhat by their hearty sympathy and the on-dits 

10 * ( 113 ) 


114 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


of amusing or interesting news which they imparted. 
They all knew Mary Halloran’s poverty; but, not daring 
to offer pecuniary assistance, which they were well as- 
sured her pride would reject, their generous Celtic hearts 
suggested many modes of aiding her without offending 
her sensitive delicacy; and many a hamper of game, wine 
and delicacies of various kinds, found their way myste- 
riously into her larder, which caused Dennis the full 
exercise of his ingenuity and imagination to account for, 
by telling her plausible tales of wonderful purchases when 
he went to Buttevant with butter and eggs ; and it was 
edifying to observe his patience when she gently reproved 
him for his extravagance. 

You know, Dennis, that we are poor, quite poor, now, 
and we must live according to our means,” said Mrs. Hal- 
loran, on one occasion. ‘‘It is no disgrace to be poor, 
since our Lord Himself chose a life of poverty while He 
was on earth ; but it is disgraceful to go beyond our 
means and get others into difficulties to support our 
pride.” 

“ Bad scran, then, ma’am, to all the difficulties I’ll ever 
bring anybody into by my extravagance. It’s all ped for, 
sure ; and it ’ud be a mortal shame for a lady born and 
raised like yoursel’ to suffer for delicacies and the like, 
that you’ve been used to from your cradle. My things 
fetch a great price at Buttevant and other places. Faith ! 
and there’s no butter sells like the Brae butter, afther all.” 

“Thank you kindly, Dennis, for thinking of me; but 
we can do with less and more common food. Do not pur- 
chase any more game or wine: we have enough to last a 
year already,” she said, with a half smile on her sad 
countenance. 

“ She’ll have to know it afore long,” said poor Dennis, 
as Mrs. Halloran went away, while a puzzled expression 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


115 


'Settled on his countenance. “ The blight is on the pota- 
toes : they’re rotted black in the ground everywhere, and 
IVe been buying everything, until there’s but little of my 
own left; and as to soilin’ off the ould McCarthy More 
siller and jewels, the few that’s left, why, agra ! it’s not 
to be done at all ; for, as sure as God rules, they’ll come 
to their rights again.” And between him and Ellen there 
was as much state kept up around the wreck of Mary 
Halloran’s fallen fortunes as if she had been a captive 
queen. She w^as tended with a watchfulness and care, 
and all her wishes anticipated with a fidelity, which can 
find no parallel under the sun, out of Ireland. Dennis 
generally circulated around the table at meal-time with an 
antique silver salver in his hand, and Ellen was as scru- 
pulous about the courses at dinner as if there had been a 
banquet, instead of the too frequently poor meal of bread, 
cheese, and tea. The children were daily drilled into the 
importance of using their silver forks and table-napkins 
properly, and were in a fair way to believe that it was a 
much better thing to be poor gentry than rich parvenues. 
They were never allowed to do anything for themselves 
when either of their faithful guardians was present. 

“ It’s not becomin’, Mr, or miss,” Dennis would say, 
^‘for one of the ould stock like yoursel’ to be lettin’ your- 
sel’ down to do such a thing when there’s servants to the 
fore. Ye come of the ould princes of Munster, an’ it’s no 
use to try and make yoursels like common people ; be- 
cause it ain’t in human natur’ to do it. You might as 
well attempt to wash Major O’Grady’s nagur coachman 
white in the Suire. What God made us we is, an^ not 
all divil informers, with the English to help, can un- 
make it.” 

‘‘And it’s a true word ye’ve spoken, Denny,” Ellen 
would chime in ; “ an’ it’s just as hard to make a silk 


116 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


purse out of a pig’s ear, as it is to make real gentry out of 
them that hasn’t got the ould drop in their blood.” 

And through those sad, dim days when desolate winter 
lay around them, and the vacant places in the household 
made a winter within, the star of hope waxed dimmer in 
Mary Plalloran’s heart, and her steps grew feeble and 
slow, while smiles became strangers to the face which 
had once seemed to be created for them. The children, 
with their games and pictures, a pet rabbit, and a white 
dove which a lady had brought to little Grade, were quite 
happy. The heaven abiding in the breasts of little chil- 
dren, makes all places alike to them, if they have those 
with them whom they love. Ancestral homes, magnifi- 
cent furniture, and the appliances of wealth are but small 
things to these little ones whom Jesus loved : they value 
them as lightly and wear the insignia of wealth as loosely 
as should Christians of an older growth, who are directed 
to little children as to their best example. The bright 
free air, the blue sky, the glory of sunlight, the song of 
birds, the fragrance of flowers, enter largely into the 
world of a child’s happiness ; and these Mary Ilalloran’s 
children had in precious abundance at Fada-Brae. Ere 
the winter set in, they had lived out on the brae-side in 
the fresh air and sunshine, gazing down into the beautiful 
glen below them, or beyond at the wild chain of mount- 
ains that inclosed the valley, and in their glee wishing 
for wings to fly whithersoever they pleased. Desmond 
brought into the closed-up dwelling the free glad spirit 
that had made the hill-sides re-echo with his glee, and, 
like a winter flower, cheered the silent ones around him. 
But Grade was drooping. She was wasting. The rose- 
tint faded from her cheeks, and she often complained of 
feeling tired ; but that was all : there was no fever or 
pain ; and Mrs. Halloran hoped that it was only the in* door 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


in 


confinement which affected her. One morning Desmond 
and herself had been playing together, when she sud- 
denly became silent, and sat down in her little chair, 
and, folding her beautiful hands together, became motion- 
less and abstracted. It was her way whenever a new idea 
or thought was suggested to her which she could not ex- 
actly solve. Her mother observed her, — for, uneasy con- 
cerning her, she watched every movement, — but did not 
speak; she only wondered what puzzled the ^‘little lady,” 
for she well knew that she would come presently with 
her difficulties to her. While she sat thus, with her blue 
eyes cast down in reverie, her dove flew down and nestled 
in her arms. She kissed the gentle creature’s head, and 
smoothed the snowy wings with her hands, which were 
scarcely less white, and said, — 

^‘Birdie, where do the flowers go to when winter 
comes? Tell me, Birdie. But, ah me I what a pity you 
cannot talk, beautiful white Birdie ! I shall have to ask 
my mamma.” 

What is it, little daughter ?” said Mrs. Halloran. 

Mamma, can you tell me where the flowers hide 
themselves when the frost and snows come ? They don’t 
die, for they come back in the very same places, in the 
spring, that they were before : so they must creep away 
and hide — the cunning little things ! — in the earth.” And 
she laughed at her own conceit. 

“No; only the leaves die, dear one. The root, which 
holds the true life of the flower, remains in the earth ; and 
when the warm sunshine and the soft spring rains come, 
it opens its bosom and sends forth the leaf and the flower 
again,” said Mrs. Halloran, caressing the beautiful head 
which leaned on her bosom. 

“And, mamma, would the flowers come out if the 
roots were not buried in the earth? It seems cruel 


118 


NORA BRADY'S VOW, 


to leave the poor roots out in the frozen earth all the 
winter.’’ 

They must be buried in the earth, to bring forth 
flowers,” said Mrs. Halloran. 

Is that the reason,” she asked, suddenly, they laid 
Mary Flynn’s little child in the churchyard, mamma ?” 

Little children who are laid in the earth, Gracie dar- 
ling, are like the roots: only their souls, which is the 
flower, bloom in heaven. They could not see God with- 
out passing through death and the grave. Heaven is 
their spring and eternal summer ; God is their sunshine ; 
and the earth holds their bodies until the great day comes 
for all the world to be judged : then, little darling, those 
dear innocent ones who sleep in the dust will arise, filled 
with new life and brightness, never to know death again.” 

And will they have wings like Birdie, mamma ?” 

Yes, — soft, white wings, like Birdie.” 
wish I might be planted in the earth, mamma, — 
that I might awake in heaven, — that I might have wings 
like my dear dove.” 

^‘My child!” 

Mamma, I would ask my heavenly Father to let me 
fly back again and watch around my dear, dear papa, who 
is so far away. Oh, I know I shall never, never see him 
again!” she said, while she threw herself on her mother’s 
breast, weeping. 

Oh, yes ; we shall surely see him again. You must 
not think so ; for it would grieve him, because you are 
the dearest little birdie of his heart : so come, let us sing 
something he used to love,” said Mrs. Halloran, with a 
feeling of indefinite dread in her heart as she uncovered 
her harp and ran her fingers over the sl?rings The child 
leaned against her, and the entrancing music lured her 
away from her strauge mood, and, lifting up her sweet, 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


119 


tiny voice, she sang smilingly the strains that used to 
ring through the happy home at Glendariff. But the next 
day the “ little lady’^ drooped, and often, leaning against 
her mother, complained of being very tired : then day by 
day the bloom faded out of her cheeks, and her footsteps 
became faltering and uncertain, and at last she reclined 
on the lounge near the fire all the time, or sat in her little 
cushioned chair beside her mother, silently caressing her 
white dove or whispering to her doll. One morning Mrs. 
Halloran observed her leaning back on the lounge, very 
pale. Alarmed, she caught her up to her bosom, and, 
folding her arms about her, said, — 

“ What ails my darling ? Tell me what hurts you.’’ 

Only my head, — a little ; and I feel so tired,” she said, 
faintly. 

Only her head ! Oh, Heaven !” said Mrs. Halloran, 
wildly. ‘‘ Dennis ! Ellen ! Desmond ! come, some of 
you, instantly.” 

Dennis happened to be in the dining-room at the mo- 
ment, and ran in. 

Gracie is very ill, Dennis ; I fear the child is very 
ill; and I must have a physician immediately,” said Mrs. 
Halloran. 

I’ll go right off at once, ma’am, for Dr. Ward. It’s 
only a step from here to his house ; an’ if he’s not there 
I’ll go over for Father Hanlon, who is as good a doctor 
as any in the country. There’s nothing like the soggartli, 
after all, for the sick,” exclaimed Dennis, hurrying away 
on his sad errand, heedless of the three miles of broken and 
unfrequented road between Fada-Brae and Dr. W^ard’s 
place. The snow-drifts and the steep slippery paths were 
nothing to that warm and generous heart: he had loved 
the child from her babyhood, and was scarcely less dis- 
tressed than the mother at the idea of her being in danger. 


120 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


The doctor came toward evening; he examined the 
child’s pulse, and looked at her tongue ; he talked cheer- 
ingly and in pleasant tones to her ; but she was languid 
and silent, making no complaint, except that her “ head 
hurt her a little, — not much.” 

fear,” said the medical man, ^‘that a slow fever is 
coming on ; but in this early stage there are many effica- 
cious remedies for it. There’s not much the matter now, 
but I will leave some medicine, Mrs. Ilalloran, and call 
again to-morrow. We’ll have you well, pretty one, by the 
time the cuckoo sings.” Gracie smiled one of her quiet 
smiles, and held out her beautiful hand when the doctor 
said good-by. 

Now, fully aroused to a sense of the child’s danger, 
and her maternal instincts ever on the watch for the 
slightest change, other sorrows were forgotten. The 
doctor came again and again ; he changed the medicines, 
he alternated the nourishment ; but she faded and drooped, 
she wasted and grew paler every day. With her mother’s 
hand in hers, she would lie quiet for hours together. 
Sometimes she would start with a happy smile from her 
fitful slumbers, saying, “I thought papa was here.” I 
thought I had wings like Birdie’s.” Desmond, anxious 
and sorrowful, crept in and out, and spoke in low, whis- 
pered tones, when he brought her toys and pictures, hoping 
to interest her as of old ; and if he could win a single smile 
from her he was quite consoled and happy. Ellen would 
sit down and tell her, over and over again, the fairy-tales 
she used to hear with such delight, and saw in the kin- 
dling eyes and flushed cheeks of ‘‘ her baby,” as she used 
to call her, a bright promise of her growing better. But 
Dennis could find no comfort. Twenty times a day would 
he creep in and look at her, then go out with noiseless 
steps, and say, '' Inagh ! sure she’s fadin’ like a snow- 


NORA BRADY'S VOW. 


121 


drop. Ochone I but it’ll be the heaviest news of all to 
Misther Halloran! Glory to God! but surely our Mittle 
lady’ will be the fairest angel of them all.” 

Father Hanlon came frequently to visit and comfort 
Mrs. Halloran ; he spoke words of consolation and sym- 
pathy to her ; but in his heart he rejoiced that another 
soul was about to be housed from life’s tempests and 
evils, that another one of the elect was about to pass 
away into eternal possessions ; for surely of the predes- 
tined are little children who die in their innocence. 

Mrs. Halloran never left her side for an instant : day 
and night she watched her, slumbering sometimes during 
the broken sleep of Grade, but starting up at the slightest 
movement. Her restless hands were ever busied about 
her, changing her position, smoothing her pillow, with 
a thousand other nameless little cares which maternal 
love suggested. She could not bear that any other one 
should nurse her, so jealous was she of every moment 
that she lingered. But amidst it all there was an unac- 
knowledged hope that her ceaseless care and tender nurs- 
ing would bring her through ; for the doctor still assured 
her there was not much the matter. . 

Open the window, mamma, by my bed,” she asked, 
one evening. 

. The window was opened, and in flowed a gold and 
crimson flood of sunset. The sky, like a “sea of fire,” 
glowed behind the ragged and wild cliff’s of the Galties^ 
and above, in the blue, silent depths, a few splendid cloud- 
spots floated. The child looked out long and thought- 
fully ; then, turning her full, beautiful eyes on her mother’s 
face, she said, — 

“ When I die, and go awa}" up there, and have wings 
like Birdie’s, can I see you every day through these 
windows ?” 


11 


122 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


^^Die! Oh, my child, why talk of dying? Do you 
wish to die ?’^ 

Yes, ma’am. 

“And not afraid, my own?” 

“ No, ma’am, — not afraid.” 

Then, as if an angel had whispered it, Mary Halloran 
knew that her child was surely passing away from her ; 
and, leaning her head down on the pillow, she wept in 
silence. She already felt the glow from the fiery furnace 
into which her bereaved heart was to be cast; she already 
tasted the bitterness of the cup she was to drink. 

The next day she sat watching and weeping. The 
child lay still, but breathing quick and low. A footstep 
sounded on the threshold. She started, looked up, and 
her kinsman, Donald More, stood before her, — the de- 
stroyer of her peace, the spoiler of her home. 

“1 could not find the servants : so you must pardon 
me, Cousin Mary, for announcing myself so unceremo- 
niously,” he said, with an easy air. 

“AVhy come you here at all?” said Mrs. Halloran, 
rising, and standing between the sick child and the un- 
welcome intruder. 

“ I came to inquire after my kinswoman’s health,” he 
said, with an air of effrontery. “ I hope I find you well.” 

“Insolent!” she murmured, while the blood, receding 
from her face, left it very white ; but she thought of the 
dying child, and the storm was calmed. 

“ This is no place for you, Donald More,” she said, 
calmly. “I pray you go away. Your being here dis- 
turbs me.” 

“I am sorry to hear that, Mary. I came with far other 
intentions. I wish to be your friend and your children’s 
friend.” 

“ Friend !” she said, with bitter scorn depicted in every 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


123 


feature. ‘^You do not understand the meaning of the 
word. We do not need your friendship, even if you did ; 
nor could I accept it for myself or them. All 1 ask is 
that you go away. ” 

“ I came on an errand which deserves a better recep- 
tion, Mary. I know you despise me and regard me as 
the enemy of your household ; but I only did my duty, 
and government chose to reward me with a grant of the 
Glendariff estate. I had reasons for not refusing. It is 
far better for it to be in my possession than in a stran- 
ger’s; and now I promise, before God, that, on certain 
conditions, it shall return to your branch of the family 
again. ” 

‘‘And what may be those conditions ? But speak softly: 
my child is ill.” 

“Well, listen. I have made up my mind never to marry 
— WHY, ma belle cousine knows ; and I have come to the 
determination, with your consent, to adopt Desmond, pro- 
vided I can prevail on him to give up the superstitions and 
follies of the Romish Church and adopt the Protestant 
Creed.” 

Donald More had lost all caste. Protestants spoke 
coldly to him, and avoided him; the Catholic gentry 
absolutely cut him with every mark of contempt; while 
the lower classes regarded him with distrust and hatred; 
for all alike in Ireland detest the informer; and for 
the sake of recovering a position he had fallen on this 
plan, knowing well that an act of justice to John Hallo- 
ran’s family would be the best recommendation he could 
offer. He was so full of it, and so sanguine of success, 
that he was scarcely prepared for what followed. 

“You have said your say, Donald More; now listen 
to mine,” said Mrs. Halloran, while her fragile form 
dilated with indignation. “Child of mine shall never 


124 


NORA BRADY'S VOW. 


be your heir. There lies one, dying. Rather would 
I consign tliera both to the grave, than accede to your 
base proposal. Let them be beggared, my God! or 
return to Thee, if Thou wiliest it ; but through all preserve 
to them the gift of Faith. No, Mr. More : it is out of 
your power to serve me or mine.^^ 

''You will think better of it, Mary 1^’ 

" I am defenseless, sir. I refuse your proposal decidedly. 
I have told you that your presence is painful and unwel- 
come. Shall I have to tell you more emphatically that 
you are an intruder she replied. 

" Don’t trouble yourself, Mary. It is the way of women 
to get into the heroics. I shall go away presently, but 
will return in a few weeks to know the result of your 
considerations on the subject. One thing you cannot 
refuse me : I must kiss that child. She is one of the few 
things I have ever loved, Mary, — little, dainty lady,” he 
said, while the nearest approach to tenderness he had in 
his nature gathered on his features. 

"Do not touch her, I beseech you, sir,” said Mrs. Hal- 
loran, leaning over the child. "Do not touch her. You 
might awaken and terrify her.” 

But the whispering had awakened her: she looked 
around with a bright, eager expression, then lifted her 
eyes to her mother’s, saying, " I thought he was here.” 

"Who, darling?” 

"My papa! Cousin Donald, how do you do?” she 
said, reaching out her dainty and beautiful little hand. 
" Bring my papa back, Cousin Donald, and take my 
mamma to Glen dar iff.” 

"Why, Gracie, little lady, what ails you?” 

" Nothing much ; only I am so tired waiting for papa to 
come, it makes my head hurt me. I’m afraid I shall go 
away before he comes, for you know I’m going far, far 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


125 


away; but do you find him, Cousin Donald, and bring 
him to mamma and Desmond.’^ 

“1^11 try, Gracie; but make haste and be well,” he 
whispered, leaning over her. “When I come again, I 
shall bring some beautiful French toys and pictures.” 

“ Bring papa, and give my best love to him,” she said, 
leaning back exhausted on the pillow. “Good-by, Cousin 
Donald; I am so tired.” And then again a portentous 
slumber stole over her senses 

“Do not come again, Donald More,” said the agitated 
mother, going to the door with him. “ There can be 
nothing in common between us. A wide gulf separates 
us. I will receive no favors from you ; nor should John 
Halloran’s children accept the slightest gift.” 

“ Time, I hope, will soften your feelings,” he said. 
“ Farewell.” 

Inexpressibly relieved by his absence, Mrs. Halloran 
returned to the bedside of the little one, who from that 
hour seemed to sink, or, rather, like some fair thing 
cradled on a wave, to float gently away, without pain or 
suffering, toward eternity. 

The next day Dennis brought a letter from Buttevant, 
which Mrs. Halloran tore open with eager expectation; 
but her face flushed up, and, throwing the letter from her, 
she sat for a few moments bewildered, trembling, and un- 
decided. The letter was from her kinsman, begging her 
acceptance of a fifty-pound bill on the Bank of Ireland, 
which he inclosed. In a little while her determination 
was formed. She inclosed letter and bill together in an 
envelope, and, directing it to Donald More, Esq., of Glen- 
dariff, handed it to Dennis Byrne, who had been waiting 
in hopes that the letter contained news from America. 

“ Dennis,” she said, “ if you wish to do me a service, 
go instantly with this to Buttevant and return it to the 
11 * 


126 


KORA BRADY^S VOW. 


post-office. My cousin Donald has had the audacity to 
write to me. Yesterday he was here. I wish to return 
his letter without loss of time.’^ 

“ Here, my lady ? Why, then, it’s a mortal sin I wasn’t 
to the fore to welcome him,” said Dennis ; “ for I declare 
to my sowl it would have been the greatest pleasure I 
ever had, to put him at a brisker pace from Fada-Brae 
than he came to it.” 

“ Be on the watch, then, Dennis ; for he threatens to 
come again. But go now.” 

“ Let him,” said stout Dennis: I declare to my sins" 
I wouldn’t desire better fun. But I’m going, my lady, 
after I hear how Miss Grade is.” 

She is very weak, — oh, very weak, Dennis.” 

‘‘ Thanks be to God, she’ll go to heaven without much 
pain ; an’ I pray His holy name that the angels will wel- 
come her with their sweetest songs, — inagh 1 But it’ll be 
a hard blow on Misther Halloran,” murmured Dennis, 
while he lingered a moment to look at the child, dashing 
off, as he did so, the tears that fell from his eyes. 

That evening, Mrs. Gray, the Protestant rector’s wife, 
who lived in the neighborhood, and who had been very 
kind in her attentions to Mrs. Halloran, drove up to Fada- 
Brae, and brought some beautiful clusters of grapes and 
flowers from her hothouse to the invalid. She was a gen- 
tle, kindly woman, and Mrs. Halloran was always glad to 
see her. Grade was awake, and smiled when she saw the 
beautiful present, and, holding out her little, wasted 
hand, touched the fruit and flowers with the tips of her 
fingers, in the same dainty way she had always done 
when she saw anything beautiful which pleased her. 

“ Taste one, my darling,” said her mother. 

“No, dear — but yes, — to please you, mamma.” 

They pressed a grape between her lips; but it seemed 


NORA BRADY'S VOW. 


12T 


to sicken her ; and she said, “ I would rather look at them.’’ 
Then they laid them where she could see them, and her 
innate love for the beautiful found a quiet joy in the sight. 

Father Hanlon came in, and brought her a picture 
of our Lord blessing little children. She looked at it 
long and earnestly, then gazed into his face with one 
of her earnest expressions, and held out her hand. 

“ You see, my dear, how Jesus loved little children. 
Their angels see the face of His Father in hea ven ; and He 
is always glad when they are gathered into His bosom.” 

“ I love Him,” she said, folding her attenuated hands 
together on her bosom, with a holy expression. Just 
then. Birdie, her dove, flew into the room, and perched on 
the cornice of the bedstead, where he sat, arching his 
white, graceful neck, and, while he looked down with his 
soft gray eyes on her, began a low cooing. She lifted 
her eyes, and a bright smile flitted over her face ; and, 
while they gazed with looks of love at each other, a deep 
slumber stole over her. 

Mrs. Gray offered to sit up and relieve Mrs. Halloran ; 
but she thanked her, saying she would be glad of her 
company, but she could not leave the child. Father Han- 
lon sprinkled the dying one with holy water and benedic- 
tion together, and, laying his hand on Mrs. Halloran ’s 
head, lifted his eyes to heaven and besought God to 
strengthen and comfort her when the dark hour came, — 
that hour so dark and bitter to a loving mother’s heart, — 
and went away to visit a poor woman of the neighbor- 
hood who was dying. 

The child’s dreams, or visions, were pleasant and 
peaceful : angel arms pillowed her sinking head, and 
ever and anon far-off music stole around her ; but she 
alone, led by bright-winged ones through the shadowy 
vale, heard it. They thought' — those who watched 


128 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


her — that it was so, from the radiant smiles that flitted 
at times over her countenance and the few whispered 
words that fell from her lips. Her hand, folded in her 
mother’s, began to grow cold. Mrs. Gray brought the 
candle to the bedside, and it was clear that death was 
creeping apace through her frame ; but her breath was 
still low and soft. 

Is this death asked Mrs. Halloran, with trembling 

lips. 

''I fear so,^^ was the reply. 

Then, my merciful God,’’ she exclaimed, throwing 
herself on her knees, spare her the wild agony and bit- 
ter struggle. O angels ! bear her gently away and shield 
her from wild affright. Oh, my child 1 would that I might 
bear thee through the dark waters on my bosom, and 
place thee in the hands of Him who gave thee I” 

The dove, startled perhaps by the light, fluttered down 
and nestled close to the bosom of the child, within her 
arms, while faint and more low came up her breath. 
Dennis and Ellen, .hearing the slight stir, came in, and 
knelt sobbing near the bed. 

“ She is passing away very sweetly, my friend,” said 
Mrs. Gray. ‘‘ Let us not disturb her. It would be sinful 
to break in on such rest.” 

At that moment the child stretched out her arms ; a 
slight shiver passed over her frame ; then truly she slept 
that sleep which shall know no waking until the Ilesur- 
rection morn dawns on the weary earth. 

For long weeks Mrs. Halloran lay unconscious and 
hovering on the verge of the grave. She knew not when 
the little coffin-lid was closed down on that clear face 
which was fairer than Parian marble, or when the white 
shrouded form was borne away and laid beneath the 


NORA BRADTS VOW, 


129 


mould. Nor did she know of those long, loving letters 
which had come — all of them at once — from her husband 
and Nora, telling her of his safety and prosperity and of 
her happiness and hopes ; nor of how the boy Desmond, 
grown as gentle as a girl, had watched her d%y after day, 
and how Ellen^s tender care and Dennis Byrne’s inde- 
fatigable efforts and unceasing attentions left nothing un- 
done. Of all this, with the kind attentions of her friends 
around the neighborhood, she heard when, after long and 
weary months, she had been restored to life and increas- 
ing strength, and when, amid fast-falling tears, she used 
to talk unceasingly of the one that was gone, and loved 
to hear of the slightest thing connected or associated with 
her. She grieved much that the dove had flown away. 
Ellen told her that the last time she saw it it was nestled 
on the dead child’s bosom ; since then no one had seen it; 
and when at last, shrinking and with feeble steps, she 
visited the little grave, she found that some friendly heart 
had caused to be erected over it a costly and exquisitely- 
carved marble tomb, on which hung a garland of half- 
withered flowers. Over the tomb was a sculptured cross, 
from which a dove was rising toward heaven; but no 
one could tell who had paid this last touching tribute to 
the sorrows of the Halloran family. 


CHAPTER X. 


‘‘ Pain’s furnace-heat within me quivers, 
God’s breath upon the flames doth blow, 
And all my heart in anguish shivers 
And trembles at the fiery glow ; 

And yet I whisper, ‘As God will,’ 

And in His hottest fire hold still.” 


It was a long night, — that night on which Xora Brady 
had so unexpectedly found Mr. Halloran. She thought 
it would never end; and yet she feared that when it 
passed away another and a deeper change might fall on 
him, and that with the night-shadows his spirit would 
pass away. She watched and prayed alternately. The 
anguish that the absent would have felt, had they been 
present, or could they even have known it, was accumu- 
lated and mingled with her own grief; and, while tears 
flowed in silent torrents over her face, her heart could 
only find language in these words : — “ If possible, my 
God, let this cup pass away from them.” 

When Thomas McGinnis went away, a little after 
midnight, she had sent a message by him to the friendly 
publisher in Franklin Street, stating how and where Mr. 
Halloran was to be found. She had never forgotten the 
first day she called at the Pilot” Office, or the heaviness 
and gloom that oppressed her then, or the kind words 
which had greeted her, or the sudden sunshine which had 
burst around her when, after making her inquiries, the 
good publisher had exclaimed, “John Halloran I He is 
( 130 ) 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


131 


my friend ; he was my guest.” And now she did not 
doubt for an instant that he would come the moment he 
received her message, and make every arrangement neces- 
sary for Mr. Halloran’s removal to a better and more 
comfortable place, and for any exigency that might occur 
during his illness. This thought comforted her greatly; 
and, beseeching Thomas McGinnis to lose no time in the 
morning in delivering the message, she resumed her post 
near the bed of the sufferer. It was near day-dawn, and 
the doctor and clergyman stood together at the bedside, 
conversing in a low tone about the condition of the 
patient, while Nora leaned eagerly forward to hear their 
opinion. 

'‘He is decidedly no worse,” said Dr. Bryant; "and 
that is something, in an attack like this.” 

"And you think he may get over it?” 

"Well, I hope so; yes, I think so.” 

"God grant it!” said Father Nugent, while he looked 
at his watch. " I shall have to go away in a short time: 
it is nearly five o’clock, and that is my hour to be at the 
altar. I shall return, however, as soon as I can. If any 
sudden change occurs, I must know it immediately.” 

" I have no patients very ill at present,” replied Dr. 
Bryant, "and therefore I can remain here until about ten 
o’clock. Some time during the day my patient must be 
removed to more comfortable quarters.” 

" Yes : no doubt his remaining here would embarrass 
these poor people considerably, who have neither the time 
nor the means to render him such attentions as are abso- 
lutely necessary. If no better place can be found, doctor, 
my house and its poor accommodations are at your ser- 
vice. My own room shall be prepared, as soon as I get 
home, for Mr. Ilalloran’s reception, if you think it will do.” 

"Do? Why, sir, it is the very thing; and I thank 


132 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


you from the bottom of my heart for the suggestion. 
Perhaps in a day or two something may occur 'which will 
put us in communication with Mr. Halloran’s friends/’ 
beg your honor’s pardon,” said Nora, unable any 
longer to keep silent, and leaning eagerly forward, ‘‘ but 
Mr. Halloran has a friend in Boston who will be broken- 
hearted intirely to hear of his illness ; an’ it’s Mr. Dona- 
hoe, your reverence, at the 'Pilot’ Office.” 

"Alas!” said Father Nugent; "how unfortunate! Mr. 
Donahoe left the city last evening for New York, and will 
be away several days ; besides which, he lives at a hotel, 
which I fancy would not do very well for a sick person 
to go to. But, my child, why is it that you are so deeply 
interested in this unfortunate gentleman ?” 

"Och, your reverence !” said Nora, while tears fell like 
rain-drops from her eyes, "sure I was born an’ bred with 
Mrs. Halloran ; an’ after the great downfall of the family 
she was so heart-broke at bein’ separated from Mr. Hallo- 
ran, who was hunted intirely out of Ireland, that I come 
to Ameriky to find him an’ — an’ do what I could for them 
at home, God save ’em. But I had begun to give up all 
expectation of ever lay in’ my two eyes on him again, 
when, sirs, the Blessed Virgin brought me to the widow 
Blake’s this night, right to him. An’ it’s sorrowful tidin’s 
to hear that his best friend is gone ; but, your reverence, 
I brought over with me some of the ould McCarthy More 
diamonds, that Mrs. Halloran sent, thinkin’ may-be he’d 
be at a deshort for means in a strange country ; an’ they’ll 
pay all his expenses out-an’-out.” 

" I am glad to hear all this, my dear child. God will 
bless your fidelity Come to my house and nurse Mr. 
Halloran : let a familiar home-face be the first his eyes 
fall on when he recovers.” 

"If your rev^erence an’ his honor there don’t think I’m 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


133 


takin’ too much on myself, I’ll beg you not to move Mr. 
Halloran away until I see the good lady I live with, an’ 
tell her, and an ould gentleman there that has promised 
to help me if I ever was in trouble, all that has happened. 
The lady I am at service with, sirs, has a fine airy room, 
that I think Mr. Halloran might have; she takes a few 
lodgers, and it is a quite, ^ nice place ; so, without throwin’ 
Mrs Sydney out of a help, I might nurse him jest as 
well, an’ have her to help.” 

Both gentlemen knew Mrs. Sydney, and thought Nora’s 
plan was a sensible one ; whilo they could not help 
admiring and respecting the nice sense of honor and self- 
respect which seemed to govern her in every particular. 
But Father Nugent could not remain another moment; 
and Nora, wishing to have matters arranged as early and 
speedily as possible, also hurried homeward. 

Mrs. Sydney was sitting in the dining room, with a 
worried, anxious expression on her countenance ; but the 
moment she caught a glimpse of Nora’s face the cloud 
passed away, and, smiling, she greeted her with “ La suz ! 
child ! where in the world have you been ? I’ve been in a 
perfect snarl about you. You’ll be sick, sitting up so of 
nights, an’ may-be get some dreadful disease yourself.” 

'' I am very sorry, ma’am, you had any uneasiness 
about me ; but I could not come any earlier. Do^ you 
think Mr. Mallow is stirrin’ yet?” said Nora, with a 
nervous air. 

“ Up I He’s been up this hour, and was down here 
about ten minutes ago, to inquire if you had come home. 
He’s in an awful humor. I declare, I shouldn’t wonder 
if a mad dog had bit him some time or other,” said Mrs. 
Sydney, sharply. 


Quiet. 

12 


134 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


“ Might I go up, ma’am, an’ ask him to come down 
here ? I Avant to spake to ye both about something that’s 
happened,” said Nora. 

“ Lord’s sake, child, you haven’t gone and got married?” 
exclaimed Mrs. Sydney, looking over her spectacles at 
Nora with widely-rounded eyes. 

“ Married!” said Nora, with a low, merry laugh Avhich 
she could not repress. ^‘No, indeed, ma’am, — not mar- 
ried, or likely to be.” 

“ Well, — yes: go up to Mr. Mallow’s room. But it is 
at your own risk.” 

When Nora opened Mr. Mallow’s door, he looked up 
quickly, and gave an indescribable grunt, which said, as 
plainly as grunt could express, It’s well you’ve come.” 

“ Good-morning, sir. I hope you are well ?” said Nora, 
curtsying. 

“Humph!” 

“ Mrs. Sydney wishes to see you, sir, for a little while.” 

“I sha’n’t come. I’m busy. Breakfast-time will do.” 

“ Sir, may I speak to you ?” 

“ Yes. What do you want?” 

“I want you, if you plase, to come to Mrs. Sydney: 
it’s to ye both I’m after spaking to.” 

“And what in the mischief, Nora Brady, do you want 
to ta.lk about ? Has Ireland gone to the bottom of the 
sea, and do you wish me to fish it up ? All women are 
alike, though. Go away. I don’t know whether I shall 
come or not.” 

“ Sir, I’m proud enough, in my poor way, an’ if it was 
for mysel’ I’d scorn to be throublin’ you ; but it’s for them I 
love better nor mysel’ ; an’, if you haven’t forgot it, you 
said once if I ever was in throuble and wanted help you’d 
lend it, so help you God ! But at the same time, sir, I Avant 
you to know beforehand that it's not money I’m afther.” 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


135 


So you’re in trouble. What is it ? I always keep 
my word, Nora Brady,” he said, pushing back the morn- 
ing paper and taking off his spectacles. 

“ Yes, sir ; I’m bothered enough, God knows : an’ it 
was about that I wanted to see you and Mrs. Sydney 
together ; for I have found Mr. Halloran, and shall have 
to go away !” 

‘"Found Mr. Halloran I Go away! Begone down 
with you 1 I’m coming instantly.” 

And when the three were together, Nora told them all 
about it, speaking as little as possible of herself, — of her 
sacrifices, her trials, her anxieties, hopes, and fears, up to 
the present moment. As to Mrs. Sydney, she made no 
secret of wiping her eyes. Mr. Mallow was only affected 
with a sudden violent cold in his head. He, odd in every- 
thing, had always felt the deepest interest in the history 
of ill-fated Ireland, and, by way of obtaining the most 
reliable news concerning her ever-agitated and gloomy 
aff*airs, had for many years been a subscriber to a leading 
Dublin newspaper. He therefore knew all about John 
Halloran, and how like a martyr he had immolated his 
affections jrnd fortunes on the sacred altar of his country ; 
and he ha4 learned from the same source that the nobility 
and worth of his character were without reproach. So it 
was with no ordinary emotion that this eccentric but true- 
hearted old man exclaimed, — 

“And you are sure it is John Halloran, the Irish 
patriot, who is lying ill, insensible, at the house of a poor 
widow who lives in an alley ?” 

“ Yes, sir ; an’ the crature’s been as kind as if he was 
her own kith and kin. But she’s very poor ; an’ the 
doctor says it’s not a fit place for Mr. Halloran to be in, 
because it’s close an’ smoky; an’ I thought of the nice 
front room up-stairs that’s been empty these two months, 


136 


NORA BRADTS VOW, 


an’ says I, ^ May -be Mrs. Sydney will let Mr. Halloran 
be moved into it ; then there’ll be no need for me to go 
away to nurse him an’ there’s no fear of losin’ anything, 
ma’am, for he has enough an’ to spare for all his ex- 
penses.” 

“ Don’t speak, ma’am I” said Mr. Mallow, blowing his 
nose vociferously.- Don’t, madam ; for I must have my 
say out. Nora Brady, it’s my solemn opinion that you 
only want a pair of wings — to be a perfect wild goose. 
You are a heroine ; and that’s next door to being a lunatic. 
You are a miserable, shiftless body, taking care of every- 
body but yourself ; and now, to crown all, you want to 
give yourself and us some horrible disease — ship-fever, 
may-be — by bringing a sick man into the house. But — ” 

‘‘An’ then, sir, I hope God an’ Mr. Mallow will par- 
don me for demaning myself to ask a favor for the like of 
him,” said Nora, with an indignation sJ:ie could not con- 
trol. “ I may be a wild goose, but I’ve only done what 
I thought was right by them I was beholden to for 
M^hatever good fortune I ever had since I was born ; an’ 
I hope when I’m judged it won’t turn the scales of God’s 
mercy ag’in me. An’ surely there’s no need of goin’ on 
my two knees to get a place for such a one as John Hal- 
loran of Glendariff ; for Father Nugent hissel is havin’ a 
room prepared in his own house for him, where I shall 
go to nurse him. Ma’am, you’ve been very kind to me, 
a poor stranger in your house, an’ I’m sorry to take you 
at such a de short ; but it’s my duty, an’ I can’t help it. 
An’ it’s no ship-fever that’s on him at all, only a sug that 
took him in the head last night, an’ deadened his brain 
like ; an’, if it was, it couldn’t be caught from a better 
person; for he’s a gentleman an’ a Christian out-an’- 
out.” 

“Nora Brady, you are like a torpedo. Your tongue 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


137 


goes like a coffee-mill; and, now that you’ve ground me 
to powder, I will go on and finish what I was saying 
when you were rude enough to interrupt me. I was 
going to observe, when you broke out, that, no matter 
what ailed Mr. Halloran, he should come. If every 
boarder left the house on account of his being here, he 
should stay, and I would make good all losses to Mrs. 
Sydney, — partly for his sake, partly for yours. Go 
away!” exclaimed Mr, Mallow. 

beg your pardon, sir. I was too hasty,” said Nora, 
ashamed. 

‘'Oh, never mind. A young lady who has money in 
bank, and who has independence enough to earn her 
own living, may be allowed a few airs.” 

“ What do you mean, sir? I haven’t a cent to call my 
own on this earth, an’ never wanted it w^orse,” said Nora, 
with a sigh. 

“You are not telling the truth, Nora. You have at 
this moment, in the Trenton Bank, five hundred dol- 
lars.” 

“An’ where, in the name o’ my ould shoes, did it come 
from, sir? Faith, an’ I think you might find something 
else to joke about,” said Nora, puzzled and worried. 

“Ah ! I lost ten thousand dollars one fine night, and 
it was returned to me every gent. Did you think I should 
forget it? No, child. I went that very day and de- 
posited five hundred dollars in the Trenton Bank for 
you ; and there you’ll find it, subject to your order. You 
can get any or all of it at any moment, or let it remain 
where it is. It is yours, to give away, send away, or 
throw away, — the latter of which I expect you will do. 
Madam, give the silly, child an answer about the room. 
If the boarders should object to a sick person’s coming, 

12 * 


138 


NORA BRADrS VOW, 


let there be an exodus forthwith, and I will make up all 
deficiencies.^’ 

'‘Go, Nora, child, and get the room ready as quick as 
you can. Mind now and slick everything up nice. I’ll 
attend to breakfast,” said Mrs. Sydney, who had listened 
with no little interest to what had been passing. 

"After breakfast, Nora Brady, I’ll charter an omnibus 
and call here for a small bed, pillows, and other things, 
yourself included, to bring Mr. Halloran home at once. 
Begone now. I want no thanks, — not yet, at least.” 

Then Nora began to see sunlight breaking through the 
clouds. Mr. Halloran had been removed to Mrs. Sydney’s 
without any ill effects: he was surrounded by every com- 
fort, and no attention was wanting that his situation re- 
quired. His symptoms gradually assumed a more favor- 
able type, and, although he had not yet recovered his 
faculties, there was very little doubt but that the disease 
would finally yield to remedial agents. But two of Mrs. 
Sydney’s boarders went away, — two young gentlemen 
who were so devoted to the violin and clarionet that 
they could not endure the interdict which Hr. Bryant laid 
on the indulgence of their musical propensities. While 
Nora attended to her work, Mrs. Sydney watched in the 
sick-room, and from the time it was finished — generally 
about noon — Nora went in and remained: for Phillis, 
with an air of condescension, had offered to get tea every 
evening " while de poor gal had such constant nussin’ 
to do.” Thus relieved, Nora would sit watching every 
symptom and almost every breath of the sick man. To 
the moment, she gave him his medicine, and regulated 
the temperature and light of the apartment with in- 
stinctive judgment. When there was nothing else for 
her hands to do, she would sit beside the fire, gazing 
down into the embers, while her imagination, like a 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


139 


prophet, foretold many beautiful and happy things. 
She saw under grand old trees a stately home, where 
were once more united all that she loved on earth. She 
heard the sound of Mary Halloran^s harp, and the clear, 
wild cadences of her sweet voice, ringing down through 
the magnificent woods, as she sang strains of the land of 
their birth. She saw John Halloran, his fine face, 
thoughtful and noble,* walking with a stately step 
through those handsome halls and lofty rooms, and 
heard his kind voice speaking gently and cheeringly to 
all. Then floating up through the vision came sweet, 
flute-like tones. Little children were at play, and Gracie\s 
gentle tones mingled softly with Desmond’s merry 
laughter. Dream-tones indeed of the one who was gone, 
which would never more be heard on earth, for far away, 
beside the shining water which flows from the throne of 
God, her voice was blending sweetly with the angel melo- 
dies that make glad the celestial City. Then came a softer 
spell, — the twilight hour, the day’s toil over, and a quiet 
stroll with Dennis Byrne through the old woods ; and 
many a heart-felt word and bright anticipation seemed to be 
whispered in her ears, while ever and anon their thoughts 
fled back to “ Holy Ireland ” and lingered lovingly amid 
the scenes and beside the graves they loved. The entrance 
of Dr. Bryant or Mr. Mallow, or perhaps the crumbling 
of a coal, or a low moan from the invalid, dispersed the 
rainbows of her fancy, leaving only to her aching heart' 
the stern and sad reality. 

One evening Nora was standing by the bedside, look- 
ing down with a sorrowful heart on the pale, motionless 
features of Mr. Halloran. He seemed to be sleeping, 
and sighed heavily, then, opening his eyes, looked around 
him. Almost breathless, Nora sank quietly down on her 
knees; and, turning his head, he said, faintly, 


140 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


Nora.’^^ Then a soft slumber stole over him, his breath- 
ing became regular, and a gentle moisture appeared on 
his skin. When Dr. Bryant came, he pronounced him 
out of danger. Little by little, when his consciousness 
was fully restored, they told him all. The first wish 
he expressed was to see a clergyman and receive the 
sacraments; after which he was more calm and com- 
posed, and talked with Nora, whose presence he could 
scarcely realize. He looked at her, and followed her 
with his eyes about the room, as if he were not quite 
convinced that she was not a figment of the dream-land 
he had been sojourning in so many days, and might melt 
away as that ‘had done. But ere long he heard how it was ; 
and, when he was strong enough to bear it, she told him 
all that had befallen his family since he left home. It 
was almost too much for him to bear. The treachery of 
Donald More roused within him a stern, bitter feeling of 
wrath, which yielded only to a softer emotion when he 
heard of his shorn lambs seeking refuge among the for- 
saken ruins of Fada Brae. 

‘‘But I will be still, Nora. I will, by the help of God, 
bear it in patience, leaving the wretch who has robbed 
my children to His avenging justice. I have them all 
left to me, — I shall ere long have them with me, — my 
Mary, Desmond, and my gentle little darling Gracie. 
Why, then, should I repine? Such treasures are of 
inestimable price, and, possessing them, I am not poor. 
Do you know that the only thing I can remember during 
my illness was Gracie ? Arrayed in white, and looking 
like an angel, the child was ever around me: she seemed 
to guide me, and to brighten the gloom of the terrible 
darkness into which I was plunged. Sometimes a white 
dove would flutter down on my breast ; then it would not 
be a dove, but her. Truly it is a strange, deep love I 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


141 


have for the little, quiet one, to brighten up such dark 
hours when all else was forgotten.’^ 

“It was strange, sir; but you always thought of the 
little lady more, by reason of her always hanging about 
you and following you about wherever you went, surely,” 
said Nora. 

They did not know that the fair little daisy of Glendarilf 
had been beaten down by the death-storm to the silent 
dust. God help thee, John Halloran, when thou hearest 
the tale ! No letters had come yet; and he could not con- 
ceal his uneasiness. Nora, hiding her own anxiety, said 
all that was cheering, and used every argument she could 
think of to convince him that it was not time for the let- 
ters to come, and that without fail a budget would arrive 
by the next ship. He tried to hope for the best, although 
not convinced. 

One morning Mr. Mallow came in as usual, and, in his 
own peculiar and abrupt way, inquired if Mr. Halloran 
had made any business arrangements, or had anything in 
view", either professionally or in a mercantile way, for the 
future. Mr. Halloran replied in the negative. His next 
inquiry was, — 

“Do you know anything about book-keeping and com- 
mercial life 

“ But little, practically,” said Mr. Halloran, half amused. 
“ My father in his early life was an eminent merchant of 
Dublin, and became a gentleman farmer at the old place 
in Munster when he retired from business. As you may 
imagine, he was a great utilitarian, and, among my other 
acquirements, insisted on my going through a course of 
commercial studies with his old book-keeper, who w^as 
then head of the house he had retired from.” 

“ Have you forgotten it all ?” 

“No, no; I think not, sir. I have the unfortunate 


142 


KORA BRAl)rS VOW. 


faculty of retaining with singular tenacity all disagree- 
able experiences/’ replied Mr. Halloran. “ But may I be 
allowed to ask you why you are so particularly interested 
in this matter 

“Yes, of course. My chief book-keeper has resigned; 
he is going to California ; and if you will have the place 
you are welcome to it, that is, provided you think your- 
self fully capable of keeping my accounts in order.” 

“This is a providence, Mr. Mallow, — one of God’s 
merciful providences; and, after thanking Him from the 
depths of my soul, I thank you, sir, who have been His 
willing instrument. I was only this day wondering what 
I should do to support my family. It will suit me in 
every particular.” 

“ But the salary, — the salary. That’s the thing. It’s 
only eighteen hundred dollars ; and I won’t give a cent 
more,” said Mr. Mallow. 

“ That sounds princely, sir, to a man without a dollar. 
It is quite enough.” 

“It is settled, then? Well, rest a few days longer. I 
will attend to the books myself until you are stronger. 
Now, there’s another thing. A year or so ago I bought 
a very pretty piece of property near the city, with good, 
substantial improvements on it; but, sir, it is going to 
wreck for want of some one to take care of it. The cot- 
tage looks dilapidated, and everything is tangled and 
wild around it. Now, if you choose, you can have it at 
a mere nominal rent, just for the sake of having it kept 
in order, because by-and-by they’ll be running a railroad 
through it, or building a town there, and won’t give half 
as much for it if it goes to wreck as if it was in good 
repair.” 

“ It is the very thing I should have chosen, — a resi- 
dence somewhere in a rural district. I have been accus- 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


143 


-tomed to the country nearly all my life. Sir, you are 
loading me with favors.’^ 

“Not at all. Don’t thank me. A book-keeper is indis- 
pensable to me; so is a good tenant. Good-morning.” 
And, pulling his hat down over his eyes, Mr. Mallow 
went out. 

A few days afterward Mrs. Sydney came to the laundry, 
where Nora was busy, and told her that Mr. Mallow 
wished to speak to her. Wiping her hands, tying on a 
clean apron, and smoothing her hair, she followed Mrs. 
Sydney up into her own private sitting-room, looking 
blooming and handsome, but modest and unconscious of 
her beauty. 

“ Did you want me, sir ?” 

“Yes. Sit down there.” 

“ No ; I thank you, sir. I’m very busy, and I’d rather 
stand.” 

“ Stand, then. Do you ever think of marrying, Nora ?” 

* “ Troth, sir, an’ I think it’s a quare thing for you to be 
asking me,” said Nora, reddening. 

“ How would you like to be a rich man’s wife, Nora, — 
to become a fine lady and drive in your own carriage ?” 

“ Troth, sir, an’ it would depend intirely on who the rich 
man was, whether I’d have him or not. As to being a 
fine lady, I think I’m content to be jest what God made 
me, — an honest girl ; an’ as He’s give me good broad feet 
of me own, an’ health to make good use of ’em, I’m well 
satisfied to be without a carriage.” 

“And may-be a rich widow one of these days,” went 
on Mr. Mallow. 

“ Indeed, sir, I’ve no time to be foolin’ here in such 
nonsense as this. Is it all you want, Mr. Mallow, to be 
makin’ fun of me ?” 

“No; not at ail. I want a wife, Nora Brady, and 


144 


NORA BRADY'S VOW. 


should like to marry you, if you’ll consent, because you are 
a good, noble, virtuous girl, who deserves all the comfort 
and happiness that money can buy. If you will marry 
me, become my companion and nurse, I will leave you 
the whole fortune which I have grown old in scraping 
together. I am old, I am ill favored, I am cross ; but you 
would not be plagued with me many years, child ; and I 
know you would be all that God requires to me while I 
live. Say, will you become the wife of the old millionaire, 
Steadfast Mallow ?” 

“ Sir, I’m only a poor girl,” stammered Nora; but I 
wouldn’t marry you if you had a hundred million pounds 
sterling. You’re old enough for my great-grandfather ; 
an’ — an’ — well, I’m as good as married already lo Dennis 
Byrne in Ireland, an’ wouldn’t break my troth to him to 
save my own life. But, sir, I beg your pardon for my 

plain spaking ; I ” And Nora burst into tears, and 

turned to leave the room. 

“ Stop, Nora. I might have known you were not a bale 
of merchandise, to be bought with money, and I don’t 
know but it’s all for the best for me ; for I’m a very cross- 
grained, jealous-minded old screw, and am not worthy of 
a good wife. I wanted a good nurse, and somebody be- 
longing to me to leave my money to when I died. But 
it’s my first and last attempt at matrimony. Some of 
these days, when I get many years older, and require help 
like a child, I shall come and live with you and that 
Dennis — what’s-his-name, and expect to be well taken 
care of — eh ?” 

“You’ll be very welcome, Mr. Mallow,” said Nora, 
blushing. “ You’ve been a great friend to us all, an’ we’ll 
be proud to return some of your kindness, sir. May I go 
now ? Thank you, sir ” 

“ I declare to my ould shoes,” said Nora, as she ran 


NORA BRADTS VOW. 


145 


from the room, “ if the ould gentleman hasn’t been as 
crazy as a June bug ever since he lost that money. 
Marry him, indeed ! He’d better think of his grave an’ 
the other world, an’ of the good his riches could do in this, 
instead of try in’ to turn a poor girl’s head with ’em.” 

^^ora evidently thought it was one of Mr. Mallow’s 
queer freaks, and troubled herself no more about what 
had been the bitterest disappointment of the singular old 
man’s life. 

In a day or two, sure enough, the letters came, and the 
reason of their detention was explained. Father McCarthy, 
to whom they had nearly all been inclosed for him to for- 
ward, had been called to Dublin by the archbishop on 
some ecclesiastical business, and had been seized with a 
sudden and violent illness, which had detained him there 
many weeks. Thus the letters from America to Fada- 
Brae accumulated in his letter-box, along with the letters 
from Fada-Brae to America. John Halloran at last 
opened the one containing the account of the death of his 
child, He knew now that his bright little song-bird, 
the fair blossom of his heart, had fled heavenward. He 
knew that by this time the dust of the grave had gathered 
on that round, blue-veined brow that his lips had lingered 
on in that last farewell, and that the heavy mould had 
given forth its violets and shamrocks above the deep cell of 
that silent cloister where she slumbered. Other trials had 
lacerated and wounded the surface of his heart, but this 
struck down like a barbed arrow into its vital tenderness. 
They would have comforted him, — Father JSugent, Dr. 
Bryant, poor Nora, who so much needed comfort herself; 
but, in a low, choking voice, he only desired to be alone. 
Then he wrestled with his agony. He stretched out his 
arms, as if by the power of his love and will he would 
bring his fair spirit-child back to his bosom. He knew 

13 


146 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


now that she had been with him in the strange darkness 
he had passed through ; and, as he called to mind the 
tender, beautiful face, the ineffable joy and sweetness that 
brightened it, his tears began to flow. They heard him 
walking to and fro, all day and all night ; but no one saw 
the workings of this great agony of his life, nor for many 
days would he admit any one except Father Nugent, to 
witness his faltering and falling along this newly-found Yia 
Dolorosa. But at last the tempest was stilled, — thanks be 
to God, such tempests last not forever ! — the clouds were 
reft away, and through the vista of Faith he saw his 
angel child in a truer and more real life than this, cleansed 
from all earthly defilements, and for ever and evermore a 
dweller among the fair sons of God. But still like a 
mourner his heart lingered beside the little earth-garb that 
the fair spirit had inhabited ; still the chill and gloom and 
loneliness of the grave and the long separation crucified 
its instincts ; and, while the soul cried out, “ Thou hast 
done a good thing, my God, in gathering home this child 
from the pollution of earth,” nature, rebelling, still mur- 
mured, “ My God, Thou hast struck me a heavy blow I 
Couldst Thou not have spared me 

And from that day a change came over John Halloran. 
Many a gray hair shone out amid the clustering brown 
locks over his temples ; he felt more like a wayfarer than 
a traveler on earth ; and it became the aim of his life 
to think and act as one who was honored by the dig- 
nity of being the parent of an angel, to whose fair home 
his soul aspired, and who, he believed, often and often 
came and ministered to him, and who he hoped would be 
with him in the last struggle of life, to conduct him to the 
regions of eternal life. These thoughts were the com- 
panions of his inner life. Outwardly he was calm and 
gentle, giving a quiet and persevering attention to busi- 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


141 


ness, occupying himself with plans for the future, direct- 
ing the workmen who were repairing the* “ Brae Cot- 
tage/’ and, aided by Nora, selecting furniture and making 
every necessary arrangement for the reception of his 
family. None saw or intruded on his solitary moments : 
they only knew that a heavy and bitter trial had fallen on 
him in the loss of his little blue-eyed daughter, and their 
sympathy was none the less deep for being unspoken. 


CHAPTER XL 


CONCLUSION. 


^'But there are hours of lonely musing, 

Such as in evening silence come, 

When, soft as birds their pinions closing, 

The heart’s best feelings gather home. 

Then in our souls there seems to languish 
A tender grief that is not woe. 

And thoughts that once wrung tears of anguish 
Now cause some melting tears to flow.” 


The hawthorn hedge-rows were white with blossoms, 
and on the brae-side violets opened their blue eyes under 
the tangled fern, while daisies, in fair constellations, 
gleamed here and there above the springing grass. The 
note of the cuckoo was heard ringing at intervals through 
the air, as, attended by her little brownie, she flitted from 
tree to tree. Down into the valley rushed a mountain- 
brook, making wild music as it leaped in frothy cascades 
over its rocky bed, then winding gently and brightly 
away, like a thread of silver, through the fertile and pic- 
turesque vale, while here and there small plantations of 
willows which grew along its banks threw their long, 
green tresses right lovingly into its laughing waters. 
High up, in the blue, silent depths of heaven, fleecy 
clouds, with the golden sunshine on them, floated softly 
away, and wreathed themselves like coronals or hung in 
gleaming draperies on the summits and around the peaks 
of the distant mountains, while the balmy westerly winds 
( 148 ) 


NORA BRADrS VOW. 


149 


gently unfolded the timid leaves and blossoms. Earth 
would have worn thaf day the likeness of Eden, but that 
in the golden sunlight the decay of Time and the triumphs 
of Death told another tale. Amid the spring verdure, 
touched here and there with sunlit halos, the gray old 
ruins of Fada-Brae looked grand and beautiful. The 
clinging mosses, no longer brown, looked like draperies 
of velvet festooned from turret and tower, so rich and 
green was the tint they wore; while the ivy, with its 
dark, glistening leaves, garlanded, like deathless memo- 
ries, the silent cloisters below. Amid them lay the dead 
of ages, — mitered abbots, monks, princes, and knights. 
The tombs were all more or less dilapidated, — at least, 
those of an ancient date, — and some were quite despoiled 
of the stone or marble effigies which had decorated them, 
and which now lay grimly on the earth, almost over- 
grown by the rank grass of the place. It had been for 
centuries the burial-place of the McCarthy Mores, though 
but few of their number had been laid there since Ireland 
had become an English province, — those who could afford 
it having gone abroad and lived and died in the Catholic 
countries of Europe, preferring exile to a sight of the 
grievances and oppressions which they could not remove, 
and which each year became more hopeless. 

Mrs. Ilalloran’s parents were slumbering there, and 
near them was a little grave, around which clusters of 
violets were planted like a garland, that, being in full 
bloom, sent out their spicy odors like incense on the air. 
Planted by a mother s hand, and watered by such tears as 
only mothers shed, they were precious memorials of the 
little sleeper below. The marble cross at the head of 
the grave, with its elaborate carving and soaring dove, 
now gleaming brightly in the sunshine, spoke not to the 
heart as did those flowers, those living types of the life 
13 * 


150 


NORA BRADY^S VOW, 


of the soul and the resurrection of the body. Mrs. Hal- 
loran and Desmond had spent the morning there, talking 
of the last spring they were all at Glendariff together, 
and of the little lady” now so sweetly sleeping at their 
feet; of how she used to watch the unfolding of her favor- 
ite flowers and listen daily for the notes of the birds she 
best loved. Her little wise sayings were repeated, and 
her quiet laugh remembered, with a sad smile ; then the 
questions she used to ask, so full of deep meaning, were 
suggested, as if by an angel, to lead the grief-worn heart 
of that mourning mother from the dust to the eternal 
heavens, where, in a truer, a fuller, a more blissful life, 
the child of her bosom was cared for more tenderly and 
surrounded by a more ineffable love than even her yearn- 
ing heart could conceive of. “ No : she is not herej’^ said 
Mary Halloran, laying her hand on the little mound. 
'Ht is only the little earth-garb that we were used to see 
her in, — the veil our angel wore, and which, of the dust, 
belongs to the dust, yet still beloved because it was hers, 
and because every atom will again be gathered together 
and fashioned anew to receive for eternity the glorified 
being which, although living, we no longer see.” Thus 
murmured the bereaved mother, with her eyes fixed on 
the blue, bright distance which rolled like ocean-waves, 
though silently, between her and the heavenly country 
where her child awaited her; thus she sought to comfort 
herself, and consecrate the crown of thorns which so 
deeply pierced her. 

It was growing toward noon; and, calling Desmond, 
who was trying to decipher an inscription on an old tomb, 
they started homeward. They had not gone far when 
they saw Dennis Byrne coming toward them. Mrs. 
Halloran instantly apprehended a visit from her cousin, 
Donald More ; but, to her great relief, Dennis informed 


NORA BRADY'S VOW. 


151 


her that Major O’Grady from Glendariff had come over to 
spend the day. He was her husband’s best friend ; and 
she thought instantly that he had perhaps received later 
intelligence from him than she had, and quickened her 
pace. 

am glad to see you, madam,” said the major, meet- 
ing her at the door: ‘‘upon my soul, I’m delighted to see 
the roses blooming on your cheeks this fine morning ; and 
Master Desmond, too. Faith, madam, you’ll have a 
growh-up son before you know where you are.” 

“I am glad to see you, major: you are truly welcome. 
But allow me to offer you some refreshments,” said Mrs. 
Halloran. 

“ Thank you heartily for the welcome, but the refresh- 
ments I decline, if you please. I breakfasted at a late 
hour in the valley, and do not wish to spoil my appetite 
for dinner. When did you hear from Halloran?” 

“About two weeks ago.” 

“And how was he ?” 

“ He had been ill, but was quite recovered, and thinks 
that but for the nursing and care of Nora Brady he 
must have died. It’s a long story, major, but Nora has 
laid us all under a heavy debt of gratitude, — God bless 
her! and the end of it is that John is well and doing 
well.” 

“ That’s fine news altogether. Nora Brady’s a noble 
creature, and deserves just such a husband as that fine 
fellow Dennis Byrne will make her. In France they 
would be pensioned by government for their fidelity. I 
was afraid the little girl’s death would be a heavy blow 
to John.” 

“ It was,” said Mrs. Halloran, while her eyes over- 
flowed. 

“Well, it’s natural, I suppose, for people to grieve; 


152 


NORA BRADY^S VOW, 


but I don’t think it’s right. No one could do for that 
gentle, little lamb what her Father in heaven will do. 
Just think of her being an angel I Why, by this and 
that, I think it’s glorious, — too glorious a thing to shed 
tears about.” And, by way of illustrating his precept, 
the major shed tears himself. 

How are our friends around — the old neighborhood?” 
inquired Mrs. Halloran, after a pause; for she dared trust 
herself no further on this theme. 

'‘Around Glendariff? Pretty well, — at least all that 
you are interested about; and those who knew I was 
coming sent a thousand messages of love and condolence, 
which you must receive on my credit, dear lady, for I 
have forgotten them all.” 

" I am glad to be remembered,” said Mrs. Halloran, 
smiling. 

" I forgot them because I had other and more important 
affairs to think over and talk over when I saw you; and 
— hang it all, it’s no use to be beating around the bush 
any longer. I came on business which I don’t know how 
to let out for the life of me. I’m the very worst diplomat 
in the world. I don’t know how it will affect you ; but 
tell me, do you ever go off into hysterics, or faintings, or 
the like ? for I tell you plainly, if you should give ever 
so small a shriek, I should be off like a rocket.” 

" I believe I have grown too strong in my powers of 
endurance for any such demonstrations, major. But I 
feel excessively anxious to hear what this matter is, which 
you have so strangely preluded.” 

"W^ell, it’s no more nor less than this: your cousin, 
Donald More, — hold on, now, — the base scoundrel, is 
dead.” 

" Dead 1” 

"Yes. He was thrown from his horse one night. 


NORA BRA Dr S VOW. 


153 


coming from Kildare, and was so injured that he died in 
a few days.^^ 

Then let all animosities be buried with him. We 
shall tread lightly over his ashes ; and may God forgive 
him, even as I do said Mrs. Halloran, feeling much 
shocked at the news. 

He sent for me, and I was about declining the invita- 
tion, — for I despised the fellow most heartily, and ex- 
pected no good from him, — when something impelled me 
to go ; and go I did. I saw that he was hastening at a 
rapid pace to answer to a just Judge for the deeds done 
in the body: so I softened a little, and spoke to him like 
a Christian. 

“‘I thank you for coming,^ he said, in a husky voice, 
after I had taken my seat by the bedside. ‘ You are the 
friend of those to whom I wish to make restitution. I 
mean John Halloran’s family. Mary was my first love : 
I had hoped to win her ; but she preferred another, and 
from that day I lived only for revenge. I hated John 
Halloran. But time grows short. You all know the 
events which have transpired within the last year or 
two, and how my revenge has been attained and grati- 
fied. But I am dying, and cannot say all that I wish. A 
few months ago I saw Mary, and I saw her child, the 
only thing on earth that I loved, dying. Mary was 
haughty and agitated, and told me in plain language 
that I was unwelcome, and that she scorned me too 
much to receive the slightest favor or kindness from me. 
It cut deep, sir ; it stung me almost to frenzy. But the 
child turned her angel face toward me, and smiled while 
she held out her wasted hand to welcome me. And her 
words were sweet and trusting ones. I have never for- 
gotten that moment. That bright little face has come 
to me in my dreams, and stood out from the twilight be- 


154 


NORA BRADY'S VOW, 


side me ; it has pursued me everywhere, and down in 
my heart 1 have heard her whispers stealing, just as they 
did that day. If I had lived, my cursed pride would 
have helped me through ; but I am dying ; and though 
I don’t believe in the fables of Christianity, and am not 
actuated by any noble moral motive in the act, I wish 
to be forgotten entirely — to have my memory blotted 
away from the earth — rather than have the curses of 
generations spit on my grave for what men consider a 
criminal injustice. I therefore have left to you, as the 
best and oldest friend of Mary Halloran and her son, to 
hold in trust for them until Desmond is of age, the 
estates of Glendariff, with all lands, properties, and 
moneys appertaining thereto. The documents are all 
legally drawn up, and we only awaited your coming to 
sign them. Call Lawyer Dushane in,’ he said to a gen- 
tleman who was in the room. ^ A glass of water, major : 
I am sinking very fast.’ And gad, madam, he got so 
white, and gasped so, that I thought he’d be off before 
he got the papers signed ; but he rallied, and when they 
all came up, the lawyer, the attorney, and the apothecary, 
with the papers, he was able to write his name as steadily 
as he ever did in his life, — then watched us as we signed 
ours. I said but little, egad ; for, altogether, it put me 
out of breath. I was dumbfounded, nonplused to an 
entirety, I assure you, and so rejoiced that I was afraid 
I might say or do something unbecoming the occasion. 
Then, I declare to you, I thought of the poor wretch’s 
soul for the first time ; for he was so calm and deliberate, 
and talked away so evenly, that I didn’t see why I should 
bother about it, if he didn’t. 

‘Mr. More,’ I said, 'you have done an act which God 
and man will approve. I thought, sir, the old honorable 
blood in your veins was only under an eclipse ; and I’m 


155 


NORA BRADTS VOW, 

glad from my soul, sir, for the sake of the royal and 
honorable name you bear, that you have wiped this stigma 
away. But, sir, you will be in a few hours before the 
face of an almighty and terrible God, who will judge you 
not as man judges. Let me beseech you, then, to make 
your peace with Him while you may.^^ 

“ ^Do you remember where I was educated, major?’ he 
said, with a ghastly smile of derision. ‘ There, sir, is the 
apostle of my creed.’ And I followed the glance of his 
eye, and saw on the mantel-piece a marble bust of Yol- 
taire, whose sardonic countenance, in which was blended 
the scorn of Lucifer and the leer of Belial, could only find 
its likeness in the lowest cell of perdition. 

“ ‘ You jest, Mr. More. I will not believe that you 
really entertain opinions so unworthy of an immortal soul, 
— opinions so daring and perilous, in a moment like this.” 

“ ‘ Have you been tonsured, major? Upon my honor, 
his reverence over there at Kildare couldn’t preach a bet- 
ter sermon. But have done. Like an Epicurean have I 
lived ; and amid roses and wine let me die. Ho ! wiue — 
the old Tokay, and the crusted port! fetch it up, quick ! 
Never mind the cobwebs on their necks, — the black brave 
fellows.’ Then he began to toss, and writhe, and utter 
such peals of frantic laughter that I slipped from the 
room. They told me that at the last, when the terrors and 
bitterness of death seized him, the most frightful visions 
haunted him ; but at length, exhausted and powerless, he 
cursed God, and died Such was the death of an infidel.” 

“ This news is horrible, major,” said Mrs. Halloran, 
who was leaning back, very pale, in her chair. “ Oh, the 
loss of a soul is a most terrible consideration ! Poor, 
miserable Donald ! Why did you forsake God and scorn 
the truth in your early manhood ? Dear, sir, I feel much 
overcome. Will you allow me to retire for a little while?” 


156 


NORA BRADTS VOW, 


Yes : go, my dear child, and lie down ; and don’t 
forget that Glendariff is once more yours. And if you 
should hear Dennis Byrne give a yell, don’t be alarmed; 
for I’m going to step out and tell the news to the rascal.” 

Dennis didn’t exactly yell ; he only sprang some four 
or five feet up in the air, and danced a jig, interspersed 
with such a variety of remarkable pirouettes^ and at short 
intervals such a hearty huzza, that the old major had 
much ado to keep himself from falling down with laughter 
at his antics, in which Ellen and the negro coachman 
heartily joined, without comprehending in the least what 
possessed him. At last he stopped, and, wiping the per- 
spiration from his heated face, seized Ellen and kissed 
her, shook hands with the major, and flew at the grinning 
negro, whom he sprawled on the grass. 

I believe now, your honor, that the divil’s out of me 
intirely,” he said, quietly ; an’ I beg your honor’s par- 
don for cutting up such a shindy ; but I couldn’t help it. 
There, Mr. Snow, I declare to man 1 didn’t intend the 
laste harm in the world, only 3"ou stood in the way of it, 
an’ caught it. Come into the kitchen, Ellen, an’ hear 
what I’ve got to tell 3^ou ; an’, bedad, if you don’t fly up 
the chimbly I shall be glad. Major O’Grady, be plased 
to excuse my niglect, sir ; but walk into the drawin’-room 
and be sated, and have some refreshments.” 

“ No, I thank you, Byrne. I’m going over to the old 
cloisters for a little while. I shall be ready for dinner 
when I get back. See that I’m not kept waiting.” 

The major wished, to visit the ^Mittle lady’s” grave; 
for he, in common with all who had ever known her, 
loved the strange, old-timed little one; he wished also to 
look at that tombstone, made of the finest Italian marble, 
and carved by a master-hand, which had cost almost its 
weight in gold, and whose history he alone knew, and 


NORA BRADY^S VOW, 


15T 


had sworn to a dying man never to reveal, lest it should 
be torn away and cast in scorn from the sacred spot where 
he had planted it. 

:|e jK * * * * 

In a few weeks Mary Halloran and Desmond, with 
Dennis to protect them, were on the broad seas, on their 
way to Boston, where a fair and beautiful home and 
loving and friendly hearts awaited their coming. In one 
of the state-rooms of the ship, so carefully guarded that 
Mrs. Halloran herself kept the key, was a large case, so 
heavy that it took six stout sailors to lift it in. Dennis 
Byrne had given out mysterious hints about its contain- 
ing the old silver, gold, and jewels of the family, and the 
tars troubled themselves no more about it, except to say, 
every now and then, that it was a wonder to see a lady, 
who had such piles of gold and silver, look so miserable 
and pale as Mrs. Halloran did.^^ The captain was in the 
secret ; for the freight of that mysterious case had added 
one hundred and fifty pounds to the profits of the voyage. 
It was a shell within a shell. The outer one was of oak, 
banded with iron ; within was another of lead, which con- 
tained one of rosewood, which held a small, fragile, with- 
ered form, which was once a living, breathing, loving 
child. It was the body of little Grade, which her father 
had directed to be brought to him, that it might be laid 
where he could sometimes go and weep beside it. In the 
hold of the ship, with their other effects, were the marble 
head and footstone, carefully packed and stowed away. 

Nora Brady’s vow was not broken. She accomplished 
much toward its fulfillment; and God, blessing her earn- 
est endeavor, provided for the rest. Her day-dreams 
turned to real, substantial things ; she saw those she 
loved, reunited and happy, — which was reward enough 
she thought. But the most acceptable and beautiful 

14 


158 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


virtue of the human heart, after charity, is gratitude; 
and it is one which God sees fit, in His divine providence, 
to reward many times, even on earth. In the course of 
a year Nora saw another little Grade lying on Mary 
Halloran’s breast; she saw Dennis Byrne set up in a 
thriving business by Mr. Halloran, who, in the receipt of 
abundant supplies from Ireland, was enabled to establish 
him on a capital basis, which gave him an opportunity to 
develop his resources and capacities for business without 
embarrassment ; and, as the year closed in, Nora became 
the wife of her long-tried and faithful lover. She drew 
two hundred dollars, all that was left of Mr. Mallow^s 
gift, and furnished neatly and substantially a small house, 
where she lived in happiness and comfort, — content with 
her station, and serving God with a cheerful and willing 
heart. And, after years had passed away and Nora’s 
children gathered around her, they removed to a larger 
and handsomer house, — a house which we have been in 
before, but which, with its modern repairs and elegant 
improvements, we can scarcely recognize. Mr. Mallow 
had claimed the promise she made him when she refused 
to be his wife, not only for himself but for Mrs. Sydney, 
who, old and infirm, could no longer help herself. With 
Nora Byrne they found a safe and happy asylum for their 
declining days ; and it is said that, after applying a por- 
tion of his wealth to the establishment of a “poor man’s 
bank,” Mr. Mallow intended to divide the rest between 
Nora’s children. Need we say that the bond between 
the Ilallorans and the Byrnes grew stronger with time, 
and that the troubled days of the past were often spoken 
of between them with deep emotion ? When the- anni- 
versary of Gracie’s death, or rather her birth into immor- 
tal life, came round, it was Mr. Halloran’s way to gather 
Nora’s children and his own and take them out to the 


NORA BRADY^S VOW. 


159 


little grave ; and, while they wreathed the tomb and grave 
with flowers, he would tell them, in tender yet cheerful 
accents, the brief but beautiful history of her life, and of 
its holy passing away. Ellen remained at home, and, at 
Mrs. Halloran’s request, was installed as housekeeper at 
Glendarilf, to take care of and show the place ; for it 
had become a place of pilgrimage for strangers, — indeed, 
for all who bad heard its history and who dared to go to 
the verge of treason and do honor to John Halloran. 
And if you wish to know how Nora prospers, go to the 
large and substantial new warehouse on the right hand 
side of dock, and ask the portly, prosperous mer- 

chant within, how he gets on. You can easily find the 
place ; for over the door is written, in large black letters, 
Byrne & Co.; and the Co. is good Thomas McGinnis. 

Desmond is of age, and has gone to take possession of 
his estate. There was, at first, a formidable array of 
objections interposed by the ever-active and argus-eyed 
government officials regarding the matter, and the affair 
was carried before the courts, and referred finally to the 
decision of the Lord Lieutenant, who, being more liberal 
than his predecessor, and wishing to conciliate the Catho- 
lic gentry and people of Ireland, allowed the young heir 
to enter on the full possession of his estate, its immunities 
and privileges. While the affair was pending, he was the 
guest of Major O’Grady, whose beautiful daughter Flor- 
ence, it is whispered, will, in a year or so, be mistress of 
Glendariff. 

Influential friends at home, who had never ceased to 
interest themselves to obtain permission for John Hallo- 
ran to return to Ireland, at length met with a questionable 
success ; but the pardon was so trammeled with conditions 
which would have embarrassed and annoyed him on all 
occasions when he might have aided his countrymen, at 


160 


NORA BRADY^S VOW, 


least by his advice, and which the slightest public interest 
in passing events would have been construed into treason, 
that he rejected it with indignation, and besought his 
friends, as they honored him, never to make another 
attempt of the kind in his behalf. A good citizen, whose 
position and influence rank high, — prosperous and hon- 
ored, — his adopted country feels proud of his virtues and 
talents, and respects the Faith which he illustrates so 
nobly in his life. 

The widow Blake was not forgotten by our exiles in 
their prosperity, but received kindly and generous aid 
from them in her undertakings, which led to substantial 
comfort, — for which she never ceased to thank God, and 
always referred to the night Mr. Halloran fell insensible 
on her steps, as the most fortunate day of her life. 

And when, in the quiet twilight hour, John Halloran 
and his wife often talked, in low, tender tones, over the 
troubled past, they never failed to refer to Nora Brady’s 
Yow as the cause of their restored happiness. 


Note. — In alluding to the outbreak of ^48, 1 deem it proper, as nearly all 
the participators in it are living, to state that John Halloran is a purely 
FICTITIOUS PERSONAGE, and the event and its results are only introduced 
to throw out, in stronger relief, the virtues of Nora Brady’s character, 
who is a real and living person, and only one of a thousand of her class, 
whose sacrifices for the well-being of friends at home are noble and 
heroic. Many cases of the kind have come under my own eye, — two in 
my own family, — which are as deserving of immortality as were the acts 
of the brave daughter of the exiles of Siberia. A. H. d. 






MONA THE VESTAL. 

A TALE 

OF THE TIMES OF ST. PATRICK. 


14 * * ( 161 ) 




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MONA THE VESTAL. 


CHAPTER I. 

‘‘Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime, 

Catch a glimpse of the days that are over. 

Thus sighing look through the waves of time 
For the long-faded glories they cover.” — Moore. 

It is a tale of Erin — of Erin in her pride and the glory 
of her strength, — of the bright dawn of the day-star of 
her salvation, — of her sages and learning, — of her apos- 
tles and martyrs — that we tell. Let us leave the Present, 
with its fetters and gyves, its tears and lamentations, — 
let us turn our eyes away from those scenes whose glories, 
so faded by ruin and devastation, mar the fair face of 
Nature, and look far away through the dim ages of the 
Past, — from the twilight and shadow, toward the morn- 
ing light of a happier day. 

A scene full of splendor and repose, which lay like a 
jeweled crown thrown off by a tired monarch, sparkled 
and glowed in the sunset. Stretching away toward the 
south and west from the beauteous valley, mountains 
whose sides were covered with a luxuriant growth of 
white-thorn and fir, and a thick undergrowth of heath, 
whose purple flowers stirred beneath the south wind like 
the ripples of a summer sea, lifted their summits to the 
clouds. Through a narrow valley, or rather gorge, of the 

( 163 ) 


164 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


Tore Mountain, whose rocky sides, overgrown by flaunt- 
ing vines and rich mosses, presented uncouth outlines to 
the eye, the red and golden light of the setting sun' flowed 
in on a lough* whose gently-ebbing waves were crowned 
by two isles of matchless beauty. Around their shores, 
through reeds and willows, the waters, tinted with crim- 
son and sapphire and burnished with gold, broke with a 
gentle murmur, scattering long lines of foam like circlets 
of gems on the sands. There was then no lofty Abbey 
of Innisfallin, no massive towers amid the groves of its 
sister isle. There was then no stronghold on the crags 
and rocks beyond ; for the clans of the Kenmares and 
Herberts, at this early period, had not conquered the ter- 
ritory over which they afterward reigned. A low rip- 
pling murmur broke on the hushed stillness of the scene, 
and, glancing through a rich growth of arbutus and fern, 
a bright stream threaded its way from its mountain-tarn, 
down over rocks and mosses, now flashing in tides of 
splendor in the sunshine, now lost in shadow, and ever 
singing in silvery notes, until, obstructed by masses of 
granite and accelerated in its progress by a steeper de- 
clivity, it dashed, a wild and splendid cascade, into the 
lough below. Here lingered the sunbeams, multiplied 
by prismatic lights into a thousand glowing shades, — 
every drop of spray a living gem, every bubble of foam 
an embodied rainbow, — until it looked as if some spirit 
of eld had, in a moment of poesy, crushed diamonds and 
pearls and rubies and scattered the precious dust over the 
foaming waters. 

On an overhanging rock a wild deer poised its feet, 
and, looking out of its great soft eyes with timid 
glances, stooped to drink, — the only sign of life in the 


^ One of the Killarney lakes. 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


165 


whole fair scene. But, suddenly starting, it threw back 
its head, nerved its slender legs for a perilous leap, and 
disappeared amid the shadows of the overhanging trees 
of the cliff beyond. A sound of oars, dashing rapidly 
in the waters of the lough, disturbed the quiet repose, 
and in another instant a curragh, rowed by a single 
boatman, shot round Innisfallin’s Isle. Two youths of 
noble aspect, and richly appareled, sat in the stern, and 
looked with eager curiosity toward the shore. One 
was slender and graceful, with a complexion of olive, 
and hair of raven blackness, which was confined under a 
fillet of gold, that sat like a coronet over his broad, pol- 
ished forehead. He was arrayed in a silken tunic, and 
robes of Tyrian purple embroidered with gold. He held 
in one hand an unstrung bow, richly ornamented, while 
he shaded his eyes with the other from the slanting sun- 
beams. His companion was a perfect contrast in form 
and feature. Heavily but not ungracefully built, his light 
flowing hair, his large blue eyes, ruddy complexion, and 
less aquiline but singularly handsome features, announced 
his Saxon origin. Suddenly the oarsman paused and left 
his oars in rest, while the curragh slowly drifted on the 
tide toward the middle of the lough. 

“Lay on thy oars and speed us to yon shore, serf!’’ 
exclaimed the dark one, with flashing eyes. 

“ I may not, noble,” replied the man, pointing toward 
a grove which, gloomy and almost impenetrable, receded 
from the eastern shore of the lough. . Then he bowed his 
head low upon his breast in an attitude of adoration. The 
strangers turned their eyes in the direction he indicated, 
and beheld a long and solemn procession of men crowned 
with wreaths of oak, and arrayed in white lunics, over 
which flowed ample robes of splendid and gorgeous dyes, 
with jeweled clasps, and broidery of gems, which flashed 


166 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


back the sunlight as brightly as did the spray which 
spanned the distant waterfall. 

They were led by one of tall and noble stature, but 
bowed with age. His white hair flowed back from a face 
already paled by the last shadows of life, while over his 
breast his beard hung like drifts of snow. His eyes, black, 
piercing, and brilliant, gazed with a rapt and seer-like 
expre_ssion toward the west. He carried, folded on his 
bosom, something wrapped in a cloth of gold, which he 
regarded with reverence and awe. In solemn and meas- 
ured tones they chanted lofty strains, which, blending 
together in their different parts, formed a wondrous 
melody, which was wafted in sonorous and mournful 
cadences across the waters of the lough, and repeated in 
weird echoes among the glens and rocky clefts of the 
mountains. 

When at last they came in full view of the setting sun, 
which through the distant and narrow gorge looked like 
a deity on an altar of flame, they bowed their heads in 
adoration, while their white-haired leader stretched out 
his hands and, with impassioned words and gestures, ad- 
dressed the object of their worship. And while he stood 
thus — his rapt countenance still uplifted — the light faded, 
soft shadows of purple and gold floated over the scene, and 
in silence the procession returned toward the grove. 

Hius Fidius !’’ exclaimed the dark stranger, with en- 
thusisam : “ that was solemn and grand ! Dost thou know, 
Sir Saxon, who those are 

The Druids !’’ replied the young Saxon, while a 
scornful smile wreathed his handsome mouth : those 
are the Druids and bards of Munster, under the Arch- 
Druid Semo, famed throughout Western Europe for his 
wisdom and learnkig.” 

He is also much reverenced in Gaul, — so much so,’^ 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


"167 


said the youth, “ that my father, the Lord Count of Bre- 
tagne, has sent me hither to learn the science of letters 
under him.’’ 

“ I wish his fame had been confined to Gaul, then, and 
not traveled also to Germany : then my father, a palatine 
of the Empire, and of old Roman blood, would not have 
sent me hither to learn wisdom from Semo. I wished to 
study in Rome !” 

“ Rome !” exclaimed the other, with scorn : “ what are 
the schools of Rome and Greece ? They know but little 
of the lore of the Egyptians and Phoenicians, still less of 
the Etrurians ; and who cares for modern learning ? Not 
I ! So, hearing of the high repute of the Druids and 
bards of Erin, I have come hither to study jurisprudence 
and literature.” 

“ Bah 1” said the Saxon : ‘‘ I have no taste for solitude 
and study. Give me spear and helm, sword and banner, 
to slay and burn and conquer. Then the arena— the 
games — for me ! I was at Rome once with my father ; 
but even Rome, under the new sect of a Nazarene called 
Christ, is not as it used to be under Diocletian, Maxi- 
minus, and Julian, — when the beasts of the amphitheater 
— beasts from the jungles and deserts of Africa and Ind, 
fierce, burning, ravenous demons — fought, not with their 
kind, but with men, in noble and stirring contest. Bah ! 
those emperors of the olden time knew how to find sport 
for the people !” 

“ By Prometheus !” said the other, laughing, “ we must 
endeavor to be content in this our exile. This is a fair 
land, — this island school of Europe; and we can only 
pray the gods to give us fire from heaven for our brains, 
while we are chained to the rock.” 

“ I like thy spirit, sir stranger. Thy name ?” said the 
Saxon, as the prow of the curragh shot up on the yield- 
ing sands of the shore. 


168 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


Clotaire of Bretagne,’^ he replied, modestly. 

I am Ulric of Heidelberg,’’ said the other, proudly, 
as they clasped hands. Canst thou conduct us to Semo ?” 
he continued, turning to the boatman. ‘‘We will reward 
thee generously.” 

“I demand no reward, nobles. It is my business to 
see ye safely to your journey’s end,” replied the man. 

“This is a strange land, by Thor!” exclaimed the 
Saxon, stamping his foot. “We are not beggars; we 
are nobles, with well-filled purses.” 

“All that may be ; but ye are also guests,” replied the 
man. 

“ Whose guests ? Thine ?” asked the Saxon, scorn- 
fully. 

“ The guests of Erin, nobles,” was the reply. 

“ Per Apollo ! Of all the countries I have visited, I 
have found nothing like this. It is a fine place for poor 
travelers, which we are not,” replied XJlric of Heidelberg, 
standing still. “ Here have I journeyed from Tuscar to 
Gougane-Barra, nor spent a coin. At every resting-place 
I find an inn and refreshments and servants and guides, 
and, what I care least of all for, volumes and treatises on 
the arts and sciences,* all at my service; and when, like 
an honest man, I take my purse from my girdle to pay 
the reckoning, I am told that one of the most sacred laws 
of Erin is the law of hospitality, and that it would cost 
that man who should transgress it, his life. I am tired 
of it. I can’t believe in such national perfectibility as it 
assumes. Here,” he said, haughtily, while he snatched 
a heavy purse from the folds of his girdle ; “ take this 
gold, or I’ll hurl it into the depths of yonder lake.” 

But the man folded his arms on his breast, and, smiling, 
replied, “ There is no law against that, noble.” 


Abbe McGeoghegan’s History of Ireland.’ 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


1G9 


“ Well, if I cannot break a law, it will be no pleasure 
to do it ; so I’ll keep my gold. It must be a rich country, 
forsooth, where a peasant refuses gold !” 

“ It is a rich country, sir noble. Throughout the broad 
land are prosperity and plenty. As to gold, we turn it 
up with our plowshares when we break the soil,” re- 
plied the peasant, courteously but proudly. 

^‘And do the peasants of Erin also speak the lan- 
guage of Rome ? — or perhaps thou art the descendant of 
some old Roman legionary, who helped to conquer this 
isle, and speak the language for the love thou hast for 
his fatherland,” asked Ulric, with less scorn in his tone 
and manner. 

‘‘Know, O noble,” replied the man, drawing himself 
up proudly, “that this soil — this land — has never been 
polluted by the footsteps of Roman legions. They were 
driven from the frontiers of Erin, ere they crossed them, 
by the kings and chiefs of Tara, who swept down with 
their brave septs, like torrents from the reeks, on their 
flying cohorts. They conquered the barbarous hordes of 
Britain, — an ignoble conquest, — but their eagles found 
no perch and their legions no resting-place on our sacred 
shores. But pardon me, nobles. I am just what I seem, 
— a peasant ; but, living with wise and learned men, and 
being the attendant on the teachers of the school, on the 
Betagh land which I helped to cultivate, I — well, I was 
neither deaf nor blind.” 

“ So, so, Clotaire ! This is a strange country, and a 
most strange people,” said Ulric of Heidelberg, — “ where 
learning and science are held in such esteem by all classes. 
But ho, here!” he cried out to the guide, who was lead- 
ing the way. “ Answer me 1 Is this thy vaunted land 
filled with priests and bards who do nothing but chant, 

15 


no 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


and sing, and worship the sun and moon ? Have ye no 
warriors? — no armies ? — no triumphs?’^ 

‘^My time is almost spent, nobles ; neither does it be- 
come one in my station to hold argument with such as ye 
are. Ask Semo ; ask the bards : they will tell ye the 
tale of Erin’s glories and Erin’s heroes !” replied the man, 
speeding swiftly toward the grove, whither the two fol- 
lowed at a rapid pace.* 

All references made in the course of this tale to the customs, habits, 
and conquests of the ancient Irish, to their religion and its rites, are 
strictly historic. 


CHAPTER 11. 


THE TEMPLE. 

Where in Pluto’s name is our guide ? This gloom 
is impenetrable ; and, to tell thee the truth, Sir Clotaire of 
Bretagne, I do not think it safe for us, who are strangers 
and almost unarmed, to venture farther into this dismal 
wood,” said TJlric of Heidelberg to his companion. 

‘‘ We are as safe here, Sir Saxon, as if the broad sun- 
light shone on us. This is one of the sacred groves of 
which I have heard, in the midst of which is a temple 
where the Druids perform their mysterious rites, and 
where the sages instruct youth in the sciences. But let 
us hail our guide. Hoi ho, there ! — Ho!” shouted the 
young Frank. 

I am here, nobles,” said the man, who was only a 
few steps in advance of them, but who was so concealed 
by the gloomy shadows of coming night, which crept 
through the great trees like dark-robed spirits, that they 
did not see him. 

Per Hercules I I did not know but that the earth 
had opened and swallowed thee. This gloom is like Tar- 
tarus,” said Ulric, while the red blood tingled in his 
cheeks. Just at that moment strains of choral music 
swept past them, modulated into a thousand softened 
echoes and cadences by the sweet south wind, which 
breathed at intervals through the leafy and silent aisles. 
They paused, awe-struck and amazed. A louder and 
more solemn strain of melody — a rolling anthem of adora- 

( 171 ) 


m 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


tion — burst through the grove, making the very leaves 
tremulous with its harmonious vibrations, while here and 
there, flitting like white fawns through the thickets, were 
veiled figures, graceful and agile, who sang wild-bird-like 
songs as they fled along. Then all was silent and mo- 
tionless. 

‘‘ Behold I’’ whispered the guide, pointing upward 
through an opening in the trees. “The Vestals are en- 
gaged in the rites of Nerf, known in Greece as Athena, but 
worshiped in Erin as the goddess of wisdom and purity.” 

The strangers lifted their eyes, and saw through the 
open space above them a purple vista stretching far up 
into the silent depths of heaven, from which the last 
soft beam of twilight had faded, in the midst of which 
hung the crescent moon, like a silver bark floating to 
bright but unknown shores, while the evening star, an 
opal-crowned spirit, followed, guarding its way through 
the deep, — images of purity and wisdom deified and wor- 
shiped in those earlier ages by nations who, dwelling in 
the shadow of darkness, understood nothing clearly of 
the existence of a first cause. 

“ It is a sacred hour,” said the man, reverently. “ We 
must approach in silence.” 

The Saxon looked scornful and impatient. Clotaire 
threw^ back his fine head with a light smile, and the 
group pursued their way. After treading narrow and 
intricate paths, they made an abrupt turn, and came in 
full view of a majestic and spacious marble temple, 
through whose windows of stained glass — stained in Ty- 
rian dyes which far exceeded the imitation|f of these 
later ages — floods of crimson, green, purple, and golden 
light were streaming out on the shadows in such prodigal 
splendor that the old trees looked as if they were draped 
with rainbows. Running along the front was a spacious 


3I0NA THE VESTAL. 


113 


colonnade, supported bj light pillars, with carved base 
and cornice, into which the wide folding doors of the 
principal entrance opened. Above- rose stately arches, 
splendid sculptures, and lofty turrets, all blending together 
in one grand architectural harmony. Walking to and fro 
the length of the tesselated marble floor of the colonnade 
was a noble-looking man, clad in flowing garments em- 
broidered and clasped with gems. The fire of youth was 
in his large blue eyes, and the glow of lifers spring-time 
on his cheeks, while a consciousness of innate superiority 
lent an imposing dignity to his aspect. His sandaled 
feet glistened as he walked, the straps of his sandals 
being wrought with precious stones, and the square cap, 
which declared his order, sat on his brow like a diadem. 

“ He is one of the princes of Munster,’^ said their 
guide, in a low tone of voice, who, being instructed by 
the Druids, has become a Bard.” 

Just then, seeing two strangers approaching, .he 
stepped forward, and, holding out his hand, received 
them courteously. 

“Bear witness, nobles,” said the guide, “that I have 
conducted ye hither without bribe or reward, that I may 
return. This, noble strangers, is Abaris, prince and Bard 
of Munster.” 

“And we,” said Clotaire of Bretagne, “are two stran- 
gers from Western Europe, who have come hither in the 
pursuit of knowledge. We have letters to Semo, the sage 
and Arch-Druid of Erin, from our fathers, — one of whom 
is a palatine of the great German Empire, the other, my- 
self, a son^f the Lord Count of Bretagne. For our guide 
we can safely say that he has performed the task assigned 
him in good faith and courtesy.” 

“ It is well. He knows well how sacred are the laws 
of hospitality. But, noble sirs, while I bid ye welcome, 
lb* 


lu 


MONA TILE VESTAL. 


I am sorry to inform ye that Semo is now engaged in the 
sacred rites of the temple. A number of Druids from 
other provinces have met him here to consult together in 
matters of high import; and, it being one of the festivals 
of Tteimej he will not be at liberty to give ye audience 
until to-morrow,’^ replied the bard, with grave dignity. 
^‘But follow me. VVe have an apartment for strangers, 
where ye can partake of refreshments and rest, which ye 
must need after so long a journey.” 

He conducted them through lofty passages, through 
spacious halls of marble, where the groined ceilings were 
fretted with silver and checkered with azure, — where 
silken draperies swept around sculptured pillars in volu- 
minous and gorgeous folds, — where the arches, which 
spanned deep niches in the wall, were heavy with carv- 
ings of grotesque foliage, and filled with parchment 
volumes, and rolls of Egyptian and P]trurian manuscripts. 
In more than one apartment through which they passed, 
they noticed high and finely-chiseled statues of the chaste 
Nerf, before which, on tripods of silver, burned fires, 
which were tended by the neophytes of the temple, clad 
in robes of white and crowned with garlands of ivy. 
The way seemed intricate and interminable; but, as they 
went on, they noticed that they were winding around a 
circular corridor, which appeared to surround an inner 
temple ; for, as if afar off yet quite near, and only muffled 
by the intervention of thick walls, they again heard those 
wondrous strains of music, while from small loop-holes, 
high up near the ceiling, sharp rays of light from within 
streamed across. Silently and reverently the, bard con- 
ducted his guests along until they reached an arched 
doorway set deep in the marble wall, which he opened, 
and ushered them in. 

Here rest, most welcome strangers. Here are re- 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


m 

freshments; here are couches; here is a harp; here are 
b9oks. But pardon my absence. My post of duty is 
where ye found me. More strangers might arrive, — for 
men of all nations seek our sages to hear from them 
lessons of wisdom, — and it would be a gross violation of 
our rules for me to be absent longer than necessary,’^ 
said the bard. 

Thanks, noble Abaris, for the time already bestowed 
on us. There is only one more favor. Be pleased to 
take with thee our letters of introduction to Semo,” said 
Clotaire of Bretagne, handing him a letter written on 
vellum and fastened with threads of gold. 

^^And mine,’^ said Ulric the Saxon, impatient and hun- 
gry. Abaris took both, and, bowing his head, folded the 
letters to his heart, and was gone. 

“Now, Clotaire, let us be merry. There are fowls and 
meats of which I know not the names; here are venison, 
salads, white bread and wines, — oh, glorious, generous 
wines! See how they sparkle and dance as the light 
gleams through them. And, per Bacchus I the service is 
of gold. This Druid temple is no bad quarters, after 
all!’’ exclaimed Ulric of Heidelberg, skipping around the 
table and inspecting every dish with the greedy eye of a 
gourmand. 

“ This is more like the Epicureanism of Greece, than 
the abstemiousness for which the Druids are celebrated. 
We only want garlands of roses and music to make us 
fancy we are in Athens,” laughed the young Frank, fill- 
ing his goblet with sparkling wine. “ Let us eat, drink, 
and be merry.” 

After satisfying the first cravings of hunger and thirst, 
he threw himself back on his couch and surveyed the 
apartment. It was lofty and beautiful. The floor was 
tcsselated with marble of various colors, and spread here 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


no 

and there with soft Persian mats of brilliant dyes. 
Couches filled up with soft silken cushions invited repose; 
and silver lamps, whose flames threw up fragrant odors, 
hung suspended by links of silver from the ceiling. 

"‘Look! look! Sir Saxon ! look 1’^ exclaimed. Clotaire, 
starting up, and laying his hand on his companion^s arm, 
as he was in the act of lifting another goblet, overflowing 
with wine, to his lips, while he pointed to a luminous sen- 
tence which had appeared to start out suddenly in letters 
of fire on the marble wall. 

“ The wise man sayeth. Touch not wine. 

'‘Be governed not by sensuality, but by thy noble 

SELF.’^ 

" By Apollo ! this is sham hospitality exclaimed the 
Saxon noble. “I thought we were invited to partake of 
these viands and refreshments 

"I am thankful for the warning,’^ said Clotaire. "I 
am refreshed, and shall eat and drink no more.^’ 

"And I shall drink another goblet of this delicious 
wine. By Bacchus! there is nothing in all Rhineland 
like it !^^ exclaimed Ulric of Heidelberg, drinking another 
draught. "Now I am so far from sleep that I feel like a 
young giant. I could fight a dragon, if I could only find 
one ! Come, Sir Clotaire! let us explore beyond this, and 
not be mewed up like two refractory damsels on a holiday. 
These casements open — yes! let us see — on a narrow 
parapet ; a goat could scarcely stand on it ; but I shall go 
and follow it whithersoever it leads me.” 

" Sir Saxon ! thou wouldst not be guilty of this breach 
of hospitality ! What right have we to scale the walls of 
those who have received us in good faith, or explore their 
dwellings uninvited?” exclaimed Clotaire, in an indig- 
nant tone. 

But, heated with wine, and heedless as he was bold, 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


in 


Ulric stepped forth from the window, out on the parapet, 
and, with the agility and swiftness of a cat, glided out of 
sight, while the other, shocked and indignant, turned 
away, and once more lay down upon his couch. — The 
soft, subdued light, the solitude and perfect stillness 
around him, soothed his senses, and a deep slumber stole 
over him. A fair dream opened to his vision ; his mother, 
still in the bloom of a stately beauty, was beside himj his 
father, in courtly attire, with a coronet on his brow, held 
out his hand with a proud look of joy toward him ; he 
threw out his arm to clasp his mother, who was the idol 
of his life, — when, lo! a crash, a jar, aroused him, with a 
sense of something terrible. He sprang up. The case- 
ments had been dashed rudely open, and on the floor, 
ghastly and trembling, lay Ulric of Heidelberg. 

“Ha! hast thou been wounded? hast thou been 
attacked ? What means this. Sir Saxon ? Rouse thee, 
rouse thee, and lie not there trembling like a craven, 
instead of a true knight,” exclaimed the impetuous and 
noble Frank. 

“This is an accursed place! Let us go hence,” he 
replied, through his chattering teeth. 

“Explain; but first rise up, and swallow some wine. 
I thought from thy valiant talk that there was nothing 
within the space of humanity that could alarm thee,” 
said Clotaire, handing him wine. 

“ I defy every human power. Sir Frank ; but there 
are terrible ones who belong to another and a blacker 
world, the princes of the realms of hell, whom I fear,” 
he replied, with white lips. 

“Hast thou met one of these?” inquired Clotaire, 
incredulously. 

“ Listen. - I have known an age of horror since I left 
thee,” said the Saxon, speaking in a low tone. “It was 


178 


3I0NA THE VESTAL. 


to gratify a foolish whim which seized me at the moment ; 
but the cool night-winds, and the difficulties which beset 
my progress, exhilarated and excited me : so on I went. 
Clambering, hanging sometimes by my nails, swinging 
by boughs, and creeping where a bird could scarcely 
stand, I got along, until suddenly a steep wall arrested 
my progress. It was covered with ivy of so old a growth 
that jthe branches were like cables. As I could not go on, 
I vowed to go up ; and up I climbed, — up — up, — until a 
brilliant stream of light, pouring from an opening high 
up under the eaves, almost blinded me. But my eyes, soon 
accustomed to the glare, looked through, and could dis- 
tinguish within and below ; and, as sure as thou livest, 
it was the interior of the accursed Druid temple into 
which I gazed ; and then ’’ 

‘‘ Hast thou so far forgotten the honor of a noble. Sir 
Saxon, as to play the spy asked Clotaire, with a wither- 
ing look of scorn. 

‘^Ha! spy!” he exclaimed, touching the hilt of his 
dagger. “ Unsay the word. Sir Clotaire of Bretagne !” 

Let thy own words disprove the charge, Sir Ulric of 
Hiedelberg. Go on,” said the other, coolly. 

“ That I am no spy, then, be sure. Had I known 
there was an opening in the wall, had I even knowm that 
it was the wall of their temple I was scaling, I had not 
seen what I did. But, once up, — hanging by vines at a 
dizzy height from the ground, my brain fevered with 
wine, and the spirit of adventure rampant within me — 
I looked down for a moment ; but. Sir Frank, it was a 
moment so full of horror that it is burnt in my brain for- 
ever. I saw a throne of gold and gems. It was sur- 
rounded by lamps so studded with opals that the light 
streamed out like sunbeams through them. White and 
crimson draperies of tissue covered with stars of precious 


3I0NA THE VESTAL. 


1^9 


stones hung around it. On it was seated a terrible one 
of gigantic proportions, draped in cloth of gold. His 
face was grand and beautiful, but there was a faded glory 
and a curse in every lineament. Instead of a diadem 
of gems on his brow, there was a coronal of small white 
flames. Yes, — as I live, — flames I No jewels ever flick- 
ered and twined and writhed as they did. Then he 
lifted his hand, and I saw a glistening serpent, with eyes 
of flame, twining around his arm, and from the throat of 
the serpent issued low, sweet melodies. At the signal, a 
screen slid back, and Semo, followed by two others, older 
than himself, came into this awful presence, and, pros- 
trating themselves, touched the pavement with their 
foreheads, paying him who sat on the throne homage, 
who uttered words I could not hear. Then there came a 
crash and sudden darkness, and wild music wailing up 
on the air, and a sound of lamentation. Half dead with 
fright, I returned with all the swiftness I could. 

Sir Ulric of Heidelberg, thou art sufficiently pun- 
ished for thy levity. Thy head was dizzy with climbing, 
and, heated with wine, the light blinded and bewildered 
thee, and thou hast seen — a vision,’^ said Clotaire, laugh- 
ing. 

It was no vision, — no phantasy replied the other, 
sullenly, while he swallowed another draught of wine. 

I only wish I was safely back at Heidelberg ; for, 
believe me, it is little that will be battered into my brains, 
after what I have seen.’^ 

“ Let us hope for the best,’^ replied the gay Clotaire. 

Lie down and sleep until morning, and, my honor on it, 
the bright sunshine will disperse these extraordinary 
phantoms from thy affrighted brain. There are soft pil- 
lows and a wide couch. Let us sleep. 

Sleep who can muttered Ulric. I shall watch. 


180 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


By Pluto! I feel afraid for the first time in my life.’^ 
But, notwithstanding all, he had scarcely touched the 
pillows, on which he had heavily thrown himself, when 
his nasal organs announced, in no gentle or musical tones, 
that he was sleeping profoundly. 


CHAPTER III. 


SEMO. 

Nobles, day is far up in the hills 1’’ 

Pardon, O bard, the sluggishness of weary travelers,’’ 
exclaimed Clotaire, who, starting from his couch, saw 
Abaris standing beside him. 

“Nay, gentle sir, it is I who should ask pardon, for 
rousing thee so rudely from sleep. I was loath to do it ; 
but Semo sends ye greeting, and is waiting in the grove 
Avithout, to give ye audience,” replied the bard, courteously. 

“ Methinks the wines of Erin give one strange dreams, 
sir bard,” yawned the Saxon, stretching his limbs, while 
he shook off his slumbers. 

“ Our wines are generous. If used temperately, they 
invigorate and strengthen; if abused, they take revenge 
by filling the soul with phantoms from Tartarus,” replied 
Abaris, gravely. 

“ It Avas the wine, then,” began Ulric ; but, silenced 
by a sign from Clotaire, he adroitly added, “ In Rhineland, 
one may drink up a vintage without feeling dizzy. But 
I am ready to accompany thee.” 

Beneath an old oak-tree, whose roots had forced their 
way out of the earth in grotesque shapes, and were so 
covered Avith rich mosses that they looked as if theyAvere 
draped with velvet, Avalked Semo, the Arch-Druid. Grave, 
solemn, and stately in his bearing, full of the dignity of 
learning and wisdom, and a rapt enthusiast in the doc- 
16 ( 181 ) 


182 


MONA TUE VESTAL. 


trines of a dark mythology, his appearance was imposing 
in the extreme. 

“ Welcome, young lords of Heidelberg and Bretagne, — 
thrice welcome. Come near me ; for the cloud of age 
gathers over my vision, and the voice of mortals is like a 
far-off echo,’’ he said, extending his hand, which the 
strangers touched with their lips, as they bowed the knee 
before him, — an act of reverence which his age and posi- 
tion demanded. I knew the father of each of ye. I was 
the guest of the Lord Count of Bretagne, and also of the 
noble palatine of the Rhine, Count of Heidelberg, when I 
last journeyed toward the ruins of Tyre and the broken 
altars of Egypt. Their sons are welcome.’’ 

“We are here to learn wisdom in the schools of Erin,” 
replied Clotaire, “ and are commended to the auspices of 
Semo, because his fame as a sage and philosopher is known’ 
throughout Europe.” 

“Ay ! so well is Semo known, not only for the wisdom 
of his age, but for the glorious achievements of his youth, 
that his name is written in letters of gold on a marble 
tablet in the ball of my ancestors at Heidelberg,” said 
Ulric, with a proud air, while he reverently bowed his 
head. 

“It is ever so,” said the old Druid, leaning on his 
staff. “ The Rusga-Gatlia'^ sounds sweeter in the ears of 
impetuous youth than the soft lays of Latona or the rapt 
strains of Apollo. The helm and shield, the war-horse 
and braying trumpet, are in his dreams of glory. In the 
Leabhar-Gabhaltusf he reads the scroll of destiny. But 
Time, like a torrent flowing down from some cloud-capped 
hill, sweeps all away together in an inexorable current. 


War-song. 

t Book of conquests. 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


183 


Of the Danaans, who first peopled this isle, and who were 
conquered by our forefathers the Phoenicians, a brave and 
fearless nation, what is left ? A few broken tombs and 
ruined temples mark the path of the victorious invaders, 
while the vanquished lie forgotten beneath the waves of 
the sea and the sands of the shore. Fame is silent above, 
their ashes. Their destiny is over. There is only one 
aim worthy of man, — virtue ! Tienne, from whose glory 
ages cannot shear one ray, is the governing principle of 
Wisdom and Perfection, in the pursuit of which, man, en- 
lightened by holy sciences, can only become a pure being, 
a suitable companion for Deity.’’ 

Tell me, O sage !” said the Saxon youth, eagerly, and 
perhaps rudely, “ has Erin no heroes ? no cohorts ? no 
battalions ? no chiefs and warlike sons ? Is the broad 
land filled with long-bearded sages and rambling bards?” 

Thy youth, O Saxon, must plead for thy ignorance,” 
replied Semo. ‘'While Erin, which is known throughout 
the world as the Sacred Isle, bows the knee to Sheanchus, 
the old and first cause, while the altars of sacrifice smoke 
with offerings to Tienne and Nerf, while the Druids in 
their sequestered temples keep alive the sacred fires of Re- 
ligion and learning, her heroes, attended by their bards, 
who record on the deathless pages of Leabhar-Gabhaltus 
their deeds of valor, perform acts of prowess which would 
not shame the walls of Troy, nor lay their spears in rest 
until the proud invader is driven off or the aggressor sub- 
dued. Come hither, Abaris, and sing the glories of Tuathal 
and Fion the Brave,” said the old Druid, with kindling eye. 

The young bard swept his fingers over the strings of his 
harp, throwing out a gush of wild, warlike strains on the 
air. The stirring notes floated like banners over their 
heads, and the willing echoes sounded like the muffled 
tramp of hosts marching to battle, while in tones of 


184 


MOKA THE VESTAL, 


exquisite clearness and volume, modulated to softness or 
rising in grandeur, he chanted the deeds of Tuathal, who 
was not only terrible in war, but wise in council. The 
princes and chiefs of Tara assemble. The septs come 
thronging down from their fastnesses in the hills and 
their strongholds in the valleys. They hear that the proud 
Roman, arrogant and flushed with conquest, threatens 
their wave-washed shores with invasion. He has boasted 
that the Eagle shall perch over the ^ Sunburst,’* and that 
this gem of the seas shall be plucked from its possessors, 
to glitter in the imperial diadem, her heroes and princes 
be chained to Roman chariots, while her maids and 
matrons shall be torn from their firesides and sold into 
slavery. Roused to frenzy, they grasp the spear and 
buckle on the sword. Their arrow-points glitter in the 
sunlight, and every bow is strung. They rush with wild 
war-cries on the sleeping legions of Imperial Rome, who 
fly at the onset, leaving rich spoils in the hands of the vic- 
tors. ” This was the burden of the song of Abaris, draped 
in poesy which we cannot imitate, and filled with elo- 
quence so stirring that Ulric of Heidelberg grasped his 
dagger, and, with flashing eyes, threw his fine muscular 
form into an attitude of attack, while Clotaire listened 
breathless and eager until the bard closed his song with 
the wild and romantic story of Fion Mac Cumhall. 

Semo waved his hand, and Abaris, gathering his 
mantle over his arm, retired within the recesses of the 
sacred grove. 

‘‘ He belongs to a race of royal heroes,” said the Druid, 
— “ heroes who bequeath with their jewels and swords a 
dauntless spirit to their sons. Erin has her priests and 
bards, but her defenses are the true and loyal hearts of 


The banner of Ireland. 


MONA THE VESTAL, 


185 


an unconquered race, who ever rush on the invader, like 
avenging deities.’’ 

“Pardon me,” said the Saxon, with humility, “if, 
proud of my fatherland, I deemed it without a peer in 
the art of war. Let those who will, seclude themselves 
among the volumes and parchments of old, learning mys- 
teries and systems which will neither give strength to 
the sinews nor valor to the heart: as for me, lead me, O 
Semo, to some of the warlike princes of Erin, where I 
may practice all those glorious exercises which the valiant 
love.” 

“And thou ?” said the sage, turning toward Clotaire of 
Bretagne. 

“ Think not meanly of me, O Semo, if, according to my 
father’s wishes, I desire to learn the arts of legislation 
and the science of jurisprudence among a people whose 
code of laws is the admiration of nations. I wish the 
province over which I shall one day reign to be pros- 
perous and happy : hence it is my first wish to submit 
myself to the wise government of the schools, that I may 
learn the art of governing with equity,” said the young 
Count of Bretagne, looking down with a blush. 

“ Nay, thou hast no cause to blush for thy choice. I 
know thy people of old. They are our ancient allies; 
and I can declare that a dastard or a craven heart are 
monsters unknown in Gaul ! In thy choice is no lack of 
true courage. He who would legislate wisely must learn 
the surest and happiest method of applying laws to the 
necessities of his people. Yo shall each, under com- 
petent teachers, be gratified. But not at once. I am on 
my way to the assembling of the Estates of Tara, whither 
it is my desire that ye accompany me. When we return, 
I shall be able to decide on the course to be pursued for 
both of ye. But come; last night ye were guests, to-day 
16 * 


186 


MOXA THE VESTAL. 


pupils,’^ said Semo, leading the way toward the cloisters 
of the temple. 

In silence the strangers followed him, when, open- 
ing a low arched door, overhung densely with vines, 
he invited them to enter. They found themselves in 
a lofty, oblong hall, on each side of which were stalls, 
or alcoves, in each of which sat a youth, poring over 
volumes of parchment by the light of tapers; for every 
ray of daylight was jealously excluded from this abode 
of learning. Each one arose, saluted Semo, and, bow- 
ing courteously to the strangers, resumed his studies. 
The venerable Druid then led them through a narrow 
door into a hall of gray stone, lit but dimly by the few 
sun-rays that could force their way through the impene- 
trable foliage without, when the wind shook the leaves. 
Two long tables of oak extended from one end of the ha^l 
to the other. They were spread with wooden bowls, 
small willow baskets of cresses, loaves of brown bread, 
and huge flagons of frothing milk. While they stood 
near the upper end of the hall, the door opened, and the 
youths of the schools, preceded by two bards, came in, 
and, after offering the strangers seats of honor, sat down 
and began their meal in silence, while one, more advanced 
in learning than the rest, read an Etruscan manuscript 
aloud, which, being recently found beneath some Italian 
ruin, in a sealed vase, described the voyage of the Phoe- 
nicians and their discovery of Ireland. Clotaire mod- 
estly partook of the plain fare spread before him, and 
could scarcely disguise his astonishment to see the Arch- 
Druid, seated at the lower end of the table, listening 
with interest to the narrative of the adventures of these 
hard}^ mariners over the midnight seas. But Dlric of 
Heidelberg indignantly crumbled the brown bread on the 
trencher, and pushed back with a look of contempt the 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


18 T 


crisp water-cresses, while his eyes wandered up and down 
in search of wine. Not one word of the precious manu- 
script did he hear, and he was fain, when the gnawings 
of Imnger became insupportable, to swallow a bowlful of 
milk. 

In a few hours afterward they were, with Semo and a 
party of Druids and bards, in the saddle, on their way 
up toward the Shannon, where between wild and craggy 
headlands it dashes out into the Atlantic. 

“ Hist I Sir Clotaire of Bretagne ! how difst thou feel 
after thy breakfast of cresses and black bread? There is 
no serf in thy province but fares better.’^ 

Feel ? Better than thou. Sir Ulric, after thy ill humors 
at the student’s fare I By Apollo ! but the milk thou 
didst drink was not long in turning to curds in such a 
proud stomach !” replied Clotaire, laughing. 

“ Sir bard,” said Ulric, turning with a sullen look to 
Abaris, who at that moment reined up his steed close by, 
^‘pardon a stranger, but tell me, is abstemiousness a rule 
of obligation in the schools of Erin ?” 

‘‘Abstemiousness the most rigid. The human mind 
progresses but slowly without temperance and modera- 
tion. The greatest enemy to intellectual excellence is 
sensuality. But be of good cheer. Thou wilt soon learn 
to enjoy the brown bread and frothing milk, the sweet fish 
from our loughs, the mutton from our hill-sides.” 

“ Mutton ! oh I” ejaculated Ulric, with watering mouth. 

“Sometimes, on high festivals of Tienne. and Naom 
Nerf, the rule is somewhat relaxed : wine and game and 
white bread are allowed. We always fare alike,” replied 
Abaris, laughing. 

“ I hope there are many of these festivals, sir bard ; 
for, to confess the truth, I have been used to spiced boars’ 
meat, venison, fowls, pastries, and wines, from my boy- 


188 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


hood up : hence this sort of fare will inevitably cause my 
death,’’ said the Saxon, moodily. 

“ Let some less ignoble foe do that. Count Ulric ; and 
see that thy death-wound is not in thy back,” exclaimed 
Clotaire, with disgust. 

Count of Bretagne, dost thou dare insinuate that I 
would fly from a foe ?” cried Ulric, fiercely, as he wheeled 
his horse around so suddenly that the noble animal fell 
back on his haunches. 

1 mean that he who is afraid of black bread will 
surely be afraid of a stronger foe,” cried Clotaire, laugh- 
ing gayly. 

Semo sends for the stranger called Ulric,” said an 
attendant, running between the two. 

Let it lie there for the present!” exclaimed the Saxon, 
throwing his gauntlet to the earth, while he grew white 
with rage ; “ but remember ” 

Let mine keep it company !” replied Clotaire, chafing, 
as he dashed his down beside it. We will abide our 
time. Friends or foes, as ye choose. Sir Ulric of Heidel- 
berg. My levity is my misfortune,” he continued, turn- 
ing to Abaris, who had been an interested spectator of 
the scene, which developed leading traits in the characters 
of those who had been confided to his care. 

Moderation in words is no less excellent than modera- 
tion in our appetite. But spur thy horse after me toward 
yonder steep. Below it lies a scene of blue hills, bright 
loughs, wild cascades, rocks, glens, woods, and waving 
fields, — a picture so beautiful that earth has not its equal, 
while far beyond spreads out the ocean, like a dream of 
heaven.” 


CHAPTER lY. 


MONA. 

It was a soft, dewy spring morn. There was a glory 
in the thin haze that hung like draperies of silver tissue 
over wave and shore. There was brightness on the tree- 
tops, and dashes of light on the sharp cliffs that reared 
their high and grotesque outlines over the rushing river, 
that swept with a wild and sonorous song toward the sea. 
The brightness was over all. It nestled down like white- 
winged birds into quiet, mossy glens, flashed athwart the 
solitary places on the hill-sides, and shot far back into 
caverns where sea-birds reared their young. Flower and 
shrub and heath filled the air with sweetness, while the 
winds, riding down on the crested waves, sounded like 
an army with banners. High up on a rocky promontory, 
which hung beetling and hoary over the estuary, stood a 
marble temple, with noble porticoes, lofty pillars, and 
statues of fine proportions, which gleamed out clear and 
distinct against the deep blue of the sky. It was one of 
the temples of Nerp, where, at stated periods, her mys- 
terious rites were celebrated by Druids and vestals, — 
vestals of the moon, who, like the Roman vestals of a 
later time, bound themselves by vows of the most sacred 
character to the observances of the service of the temple. 
The midnight rites were over, and the vestals were at 
liberty to wander through the sacred groves, or visit the 
caves where the sacred fires were kept burning. 

( 189 ) 


190 


MONA THE VESTAL, 


In a cavern which was almost inaccessible, and which 
seemed detached from the mainland, so far did it hang 
over the eddying and whirling tide, two vestals were 
reposing on the moss-grown rocks, — resting, after their 
fatiguing and perilous ascent. Their robes of white and 
silver, girdled about the waist by a zone of gems, flowed 
loosely around them. One was veiled, and, with her 
forehead leaning on her hand, was silent. The other, 
panting and flushed, threw back her veil for air. Far 
back in a sheltered niche, on a tripod t)f silver, burned 
the sacred flame, strong and bright, but fitfully, as the 
wind, ill gentle eddies, sighed past it. 

^‘The flame needs no feeding to-day, Dairene,^’ said 
the unveiled one, bending over it. And never shone a 
vestal fire on a lovelier face. An exquisite regularity of 
features filled with expression, a complexion whose stain- 
less purity blended with the hue of the rose, eyes large, 
dark, and radiant, and hair as black as the raven’s wing, 
flowing in glossy waves far below her waist, — with neck, 
arms, and hands of the most statuesque form, — com- 
bined to make her a creature of rare and matchless loveli- 
ness. And as this flame trembles and seems as if it 
would fly if it were not bound by unchangeable laws, so 
I feel ofttimes a yearning wish to escape toward some- 
thing high and pure and holy, — only, Dairene, I know 
not how. Canst thou tell me ?” 

'‘What is higher or better, Mona, than the pursuit of 
virtue ? And what holier state canst thou wish than 
the service of Nerf Naom ?” replied Dairene, lifting her 
veil and disclosing an old but sad face. “ It is a novelty, 
child, thou art seeking. But beware : Vt^stals should 
avoid all that is foreign to their vocation.” 

"But oh, Dairene, I am so weary!” cried Mona, 
throwing herself at Dairene’s feet and leaning her cheek 
on her knees. 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


191 


Weary, Mona ? Weary of what, child 

“ Of — of — I know not what,’^ she replied, with a gush 
of tears. 

^‘A vestal of Nerf — one who will in a few days be 
admitted into the inner shrine of the temple — shedding 
tears and complaining of weariness I Why, child, thou 
hast done nothing to-day but put fresh garlands on the 
statues. A child might have done that, and not been 
weary,” exclaimed Dairene, in undisguised amazement. 

'‘Didst thou ‘know my mother, Dairene?” abruptly 
asked Mona. 

"Know her? Yes: she was my sister. But talk not 
of her, Mona ; never more breathe her name. She was 
a vestal of the temple,” said Dairene, with quivering lip. 

"A vestal! How? Oh, dear Dairene, tell me all,” 
besought Mona. 

" It is too horrible for thee to hear, child. And, more- 
over, if Semo should know that I ever spoke to thee of 
thy mother Hush, child! I fear to speak.” 

"Nay, Dairene, Semo can never know it. Tell me. 
If thou dost not, I will ask Semo,” said Mona, with a 
firm and resolute tone and manner. 

"Nerf Naom! Ask Semo! Child, such a question 
would be death. But, if thou wilt hear the story, listen,” 
said Dairene, pale and agitated. 

" Thanks, dear Dairene,” said Mona, gently, while she 
Avound her arm caressingly around her. "Now go on.” 

" Thy mother,” whispered Dairene, " was a vestal of 
yonder temple. She broke her vows. She disappeared, — 
no one knew Avhen or how. It was only known that she 
Avent in to keep vigils before the shrine, and never was 
seen afterward: then horrible things were Avhispered, 
and all was mystery. But one bright morn a little babe 
was brought and laid among the lotus-flowers and roses 


192 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


which we had gathered and thrown in heaps on the floor 
of the vestibule of the temple, to make garlands for the 
statiles. None knew whence it came; but I, more curi- 
ous than the rest, found in a corner of the robe that was 
folded about the little one the name of ‘ loline,^ traced 
in blood. Searching along the embroidered margin, I 
discovered another clue in these words : — ‘ T/us night 1 
die.^ I knew all then. She was the solitary flower of 
my life ; I had loved her, — oh, Mona, thou canst never 
conceive the love I bore that faithless one ; but, child, 
she had stained the honor of her caste, she had polluted 
the dignity of the temple, and had Semo ordered me to 
sheathe the knife in her heart I should have done it, — 
yes, O Inline, I must have done it, — and died. 

“That night the Druids wanted a spotless victim for 
the rites, and the babe, they said, was a waif which had 
been sent by the gods. Messengers came and lifted it 
from the couch where it was sleeping, and bore it away. 
I heard its frightened wail as they rushed through the 
long, cold passages with it. Then I folded up my heart 
like a withered thing, watered neither with tears nor feel- 
ing, and thrust it far back under the shrine of memory; 
for I was a vestal of Nerf, and what were these weak 
human emotions to me ? 

“But the child was spared. It was said that when 
Semo was about to plunge the sacrificial knife in its throat 
it stretched out its hands to him, and smiled. He sent it 
away, and offered a young lamb in its stead. 

“ What became of the babe, then asked Mona, whiter 
than the lilies on her bosom. 

“It was reared in the temple. She is now a vestal of 
Nerf.’^ 

“And the child’s mother?’’ said Mona, shivering. 

“Nothing certain was ever heard. We only know 


MONA THE VESTAL, 


193 


that, if a vestal of Nerf violates her vows,, a horrible fate 
awaits her,’’ said Dairene, sadly. 

Aod I am the child of that mother who perished in 
mystery V 

Thou art I thou art I — child of my loved and lost 
loline I” 

Mona bowed her head on her knees, while her black 
tresses fell like a mourning veil around her, and wept bit- 
terly. Dairene, silent and sad, looked out over the foam- 
ing estuary toward the bright ocean, where thousands of 
white-winged sea-birds were glancing in the sunshine or 
skimming the rolling billow. The spray that dashed up 
against the cliffs was not colder or more briny than the 
tears that dripped over her faded cheeks. 

I dreamed of her last vigil. I thought at first it was 
Nerf Naom ; but now I know it was my mother,” said 
Mona, at last. 

“ How canst thou tell ?” asked Dairene. 

Was she not tall and slender as the mountain-ash? 
Did not her hair, brown and soft, fall, waving over a brow 
of snow, to her very feet ? Were not her eyes large and 
black, like those of a timid fawn ? And her voice — oh, 
Dairene ! was there a voice in all Erin like it ? Oh, I 
know — I know it was my mother I” exclaimed Mona, 
clasping her hands. 

“ Tell me thy dream,” said Dairene, mournfully. 

It was three nights ago. The horns of the moon 
tapered toward the zenith, and I was crowned with 
poppies, and conducted by the vestals to the anteroom of 
the inner shrine, to keep vigils preparatory to my initia- 
tion. All was silent and solemn. The statues of Latona 
and Nerf, as the pale moonlight shone down through the 
narrow windows on them, seemed full of life : their heads 
bent toward me, their arms were opened as if to embrace 

IT 


194 


3I0XA THE VESTAL. 


me. A great awe fell on me, — an awe like that wliich 
comes with a shadow and touches the heart with ice. 
While I sat thus, silent and breathless, low, sweet music 
stole on my ears : the soft strains filled the air like the 
fanning of beautiful wings. It was nothing earthly, 
Dairene. Then the door — that door studded with pearls 
and emeralds — of the inner shrine, where none but the 
initiated enter, opened noiselessly, and a pale and beautiful 
one, draped in white find silver tissue, came out and 
glided toward me. There was no sound of rustling robes ; 
but whenever her feet touched the floor it looked as if she 
trod in moonlit water. Almost dead with fright, I could 
not remove my eyes from hers, as she approached me ; 
but, when she stooped over and kissed my forehead with 
lips like those corals which are brought from Indian seas, 
a warm thrill coursed down to my heart, filling it with 
ineffable calm. 

^ Follow me, Mona,^ said the white-robed one. ‘ Fol- 
low me, child of my bosom.’ 

She took my hand and raised me up. Then out of 
the temple, on — over the crags, through the forests, along 
over strange moors, through fairy raths, along steep hill- 
sides and deep glens and dreary wilds, we sped, until we 
came to a sea, — a leaden sea, whose waters rolled in great 
sullen billows and floated up without a sound on the 
shore. Beyond, we could see dark clouds, through which 
flashed incessantly lurid and ghastly lights, hanging low 
down along the horizon, which chased each other with 
solemn murmurs, like ghosts of the mighty slain. On — 
on — on toward the leaden sea we sped. 

“‘I dare not go with thee, strange and loving one,’ I 
said, shrinking back. 

“ ‘ Fear not,’ said the white-robed one, gathering me 
close to her bosom. ‘ Those billows, which seem so ter- 
rible, will not harm thee.’ 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


195 


Then on we sped again, — over the dark sea, — gliding 
with a swift and easy motion, like a sea-bird when it floats 
on the wind-tide, until we reached the shore over which 
hung the gloomy clouds. It was a shore of solemn twi- 
light, where lotus-flowers nodded to the waves and the 
long rank sedges moaned to the sighing’ winds. All was 
silent ; only now and then a voice of lamentation, swelling 
on the air, reached our ears. Then I saw processions, 
and groups, and solitary ones, — sages, kings, philosophers, 
and poets, all earth-born, — glide past ; and the only sound 
they uttered was a wailing cry of ‘ How long ? how 
long?^ Pale lights flickered over the shore while they 
passed onward, still crying, ‘ How long? how long V ” 

“ Mona, thy dream, if dream it was, is strange and mj^s- 
terious,’’ said Dairene. 

'‘We paused not long on this darksome shore, but sped 
away over heights precipitous and grand, above which the 
clouds were tipped with gold, — through vales of beauty 
and flowers, wlmre strange and glorious beings wandered, 
who, turning to salute us as we passed, inquired if we 
were -earth-born, then went on their way, also sighing, 
' How long ? how long V 

For what are they sighing V I asked. 

“ ' For deliverance, which will come to them through 
One ye know not of.^ 

" Then on we sped, until a deep, broad gulf lay before 
us. No eye could fathom its depths; we could only hear 
the roar of sluggish waters far below ; but beyond it, 
resting on its marge, was a rim of light, so glorious and 
splendid that no mortal eye could bear its rays. Above 
it hung a rack of wild, black clouds, so heavy and motion- 
less that I thought they were a range of bleak granite 
hills. 

" ' It is the dawn,’ said my guide, — ‘ the dawn of deliver- 
ance.’ 


196 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


“ Then, gathering me again to her bosom, we sped 
over the abyss, under the barrier of cloud, into a region 
so full of light and loveliness, where creatures of such 
perfect and glorious beauty were passing to and fro to 
the sound of harmonies indescribable, that I fell pros- 
trate, adoring and loving the source of such mystic splen- 
dor. And yet we were only on the suburbs of this celes- 
tial land. There our journey ended, my guide had 
whispered. While, filled with silent ecstasy, I lay with 
my forehead to the earth, I heard one say, ^Arise I 
lifted my head, and, lo ! coming toward me I beheld One 
of marvelous and divine majesty, whose eyes, filled with 
pity and tenderness, looked on me. He seemed to be a 
royal personage, or perhaps the ruler of the land ; for, as 
he passed along, all bowed, and paid him homage, with 
songs of adoration which I could not understand. And 
yet, O Dairene, instead of a jeweled crown He wore a 
coronal of wounds, from which shot forth celestial glo- 
ries, while from His outspread hands dropped blood like 
a fountain, which seemed to fall in showers of gold to the 
earth, making the waste places glad and the barren spots 
to rejoice. And I saw that His feet had been pierced ; 
and, as the wind lifted His robe, I saw an open wound 
in His left side, through which I saw a vision of multi- 
tudes who had sought shelter there. He plucked a palm- 
branch and laid it in my hands. Then the vision faded. 
Methought I was in a cavern, into which the sea was 
dashing with a horrible roar. I was pursued by phan- 
toms arrayed like Druids, who led on wolf-dogs to de- 
vour me. I looked toward the temple. It was blazing; 
while Nerp Naom descended from her pedestal and 
seized a burning brand and rushed toward me, leading 
on my foes ; but the waves kept them at bay. When, 
filled with anguish and terror, I awoke, I was lying on 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


197 


the broad marble step of the pedestal on which stands 
the statue of Latona, with the bright sunshine around 
me.^’ 

Mona ceased speaking, and covered her face with her 
veil. 

Strange things have •happened in the temple, Mona, 
even in my day,^^ said Dairene, — “things so strange and 
terrible in their auguries that I dare not speak of them. 
But it is no harm to tell legends. The older vestals talk 
of them ; and it is even said that Semo trembles when 
they are told; but I don’t know.” 

“ What are those legends, Dairene asked Mona, in a 
voice of deep interest. 

“ I will tell thee one, — the one which is recorded in the 
Sheancus-More.* Once, when the Baal-fire was blazing 
upon the plains of Tar^, and the high mysteries of TTenne 
were being celebrated with great pomp and splendor, 
when the Druids, and bards, and kings, and princes, and 
nobles, all in their magnificent robes, marched into the 
sacred grove to assist in the solemnities, a sudden dark- 
ness overspread the earth ; the sacred fire was extin- 
guished, the ground shook, and there was a sound in ttfe 
air like the roaring of wind and wave. Priests and peo- 
ple fled together in wild affright to the open plains, ex- 
pecting every instant the destruction of Nature. But at 
last the darkness dispersed, Nature once more smiled 
serenely ; and the multitude, still pale and trembling with 
an unknown horror, resumed each one his station and 
duty. After consultation in the great hall of Tara with 
the Druids, the king directed the Arch-Druid to go to the 
temple and consult the oracle and ascertain the meaning 
of this elemental disturbance. 

“It was done ; and, while the multitude without were 


Psalter of Tara. 

17 * 


198 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


waiting in breathless anxiety and awe for the answer, 
the Arch-Druid appeared on the portico of the temple. 
His face was whiter than his hair, and his voice, usually 
loud and sweet, was piping and tremulous, as he imparted 
to the assembly the decree of the oracle. 

^ In the country of the Jew«,^ he began, ^ they are put- 
ting to death the Son of God, their king, who came to 
reign over them and bring salvation to the nations.’ 

“ Then a cry of horror filled the air ; the people beat 
their breasts and tore their hair when the Deicide was 
announced to them. They felt that a malediction was 
over the earth. The King of Ulster, in his rage, rushed 
through the sacred grove, hewing and hacking the trees, 
and rallying his knights of the Red Branch around him, 
to march to the kingdom of the Jews and avenge the 
death of a God.* 

'' But, while marshaling his knights in order and de- 
nouncing the Jews, an old wound in his head opened, 
and he fell dead.” 

“A glorious death! But, Dairene, who is God? And 
why should Jesus Christ His Son die? Is not a God 
powerful and mighty ? Does it mean Tienne, Dairene ?” 
asked Mona, anxiously. 

“ I can tell thee no more, Mona. That is the legend; 
but I have heard,” she whispered, looking fearfully around 
her, “that since then the oracles have been dumb.” 

“Let us go, Dairene! This is a fearful thing. He 
must be a mighty one to whose power the oracles sub- 
mit,” said Mona, going toward the mouth of the cave, 
and shading her eyes with her hands as she looked in the 
direction of the temple. “ I see a cavalcade winding up 
the steep leading to the temple.” 

“It is Semo. Come away!” cried Dairene, gathering 
her veil around her. 


Carey. 


CHAPTER y. 


THE ALTAR AT MIDNIGHT. 

The day before the cavalcade of Druids and bards ar- 
rived at the temple of Nerf, toward sunset, Ulric of 
Heidelberg and Clotaire of Bretagne, apparently on 
friendly terms, had wandered away from the halting- 
place, arm in arm, as the others thought, to explore the 
fair and romantic scenes which stretched out on every 
side around them. But, heedless of gold-tinted trees, or 
of purple rocks where rich vines flaunted their gay yellow 
flowers, they followed in silence a narrow wolf-track, 
which led them down into a deep and narrow glen, where, 
throwing off their embroidered togas and drawing their 
keen Saracen blades, they prepared for deadly conflict. 
After a few passes, the lithe and graceful Clotaire, who 
was accomplished in the use of arms, gained such an an- 
vantage over the blundering Saxon, who plunged and 
beat the earth and air like a wild bull, that, after inflict- 
ing a flesh-wound on his thigh, he, by a skillful sleight of 
hand, disarmed him, and, pressing him back against the 
rocks, held him completely at his mercy. 

“Thou art fairly vanquished,’’ said Clotaire. “In 
good faith, and according to the laws of chivalry.” 

^ “Vanquished? Yes! As to fairness, if the sun had 
not slanted into my eyes and blinded me, thou wouldst 
have naught to boast of,” replied Ulric, sullenly. 

“ It is thy right, sir count, to claim another trial, if 

( 199 ) 


200 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


thou art not satisfied. I am at thy service,” said the 
other, proudly. 

“ To give thee another advantage to boast over ? It is, 
methinks, no proof of chivalry to offer fight to a wounded 
man!” 

Nay, Count of Heidelberg, I am no boaster. I for- 
got thy scratch. Here ; take thy cimetar, and let us be 
friends,” said Clotaire, holding out his hand. 

‘‘Thou hast vanquished twice, sir count. Thou wilt 
forget my disgrace more readily than I ; but I accept thy 
gage,” was the Saxon’s reply to the noble and chivalrous 
forbearance of his adversary. 

Ere they reached the temple the following day, the 
young Count of Heidelberg had apparently forgotten the 
quarrel and encounter of the evening before ; while Clo- 
taire, in his frank and joyous nature, rejoiced that the 
animosity which he had provoked by his sarcasms was 
so short-lived. Indeed, he frequently reproached himself 
for his levity, and behaved with more courtesy to his 
companion, nor meddled again with his peculiarities. 
But deep down in that Saxon heart, like a bolt that has 
sped into a burning crater, glowed the insult which he 
had not the courage either to forgive or to avenge ; and 
he only, with crafty pretense, bided his time, to inflict a 
deadly blow on the head of him who had stung him. 
But he evinced no outward signs of his jealous hatred, 
and those who merely looked on the surface thought they 
beheld in the intercourse of the two a renewal of the 
friendship of Castor and Pollux. 

“There is good news for us to-day, sir count,” said 
Hlric to Clotaire, who was loitering along the picturesque?* 
shore. “ I have been seeking thee in every direction for 
an hour past.” 

“News from home ?” said Clotaire, eagerly, lifting his 
bright, expectant face. 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


201 


If the winds could talk, we might have news from 
home. No. But it will please thee — even thee — well to 
hear it,’^ replied Ulric. 

Had I wine, I would offer a libation beforehand for 
it,’^ said Clotaire, laughing. “ As it is, I will pour water 
on the sands in token of my thanksgiving to the gods 
for good tidings.’^ And he dipped his hand in a small 
pool at his feet, and, with a graceful gesture, threw the 
clear water from the hollow of his hand on the earth. 
“Now for thy news.’’ 

“ Thou dost know that Abaris, the bard, is of the royal 
house of this province of Munster. The stronghold on 
yonder height belongs to his father, and is governed by 
his brother, the royal heir, who sends us greeting, and an 
invitation to a wolf-hunt and feast to-day.” 

“ I will not quarrel with thy news ; for, in sooth, it 
stirs up the blood in my' veins to hear of a hunt once 
more,” exclaimed Clotaire, with flashing eyes. “ But 
Semo ! what sayeth Semo ?” 

“ Intent on the rites of the temple, he consents to our 
going under the protection of Abaris, who, you know, is 
not a Druid, but as gallant a bard as ever touched harp 
or falchion. But here he comes in search of us.” 

“We must speed without delay to Innistore, nobles,” 
said Abaris. “The Clana Doagha^ are assembled, and 
wait our coming: the beagles are unleashed, and the 
wolf-dogs howl to be on the scent of the quarry,” said 
the noble bard. 

“But our weapons? We have no weapons, noble 
Abaris,” said Clotaire. 

“Weapons? Targe, shield, and spear are in the halls 
of Innistore. Our steeds paw the earth and champ 


^ The Knights of Munster. 


202 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


their bits beyond the temple walls. They snuff the chase, 
and are impatient to be gone.” 

And with fleet steps the three sprang up the steep 
rocky paths leading to the temple, and, almost breathless 
with eagerness and haste, leaped into their saddles, and 
coursed like the winds toward the stronghold of Innis- 
tore. 

Under the massive arch of the great portal of Innis- 
tore stood the noble and handsome Prince of Munster, 
waiting to be the first to offer welcome greeting to his 
stranger guests. A knight of the Golden Collar, — an order 
conferred only on those of royal descent, — he wore his 
honors bravely. His large blue eyes and yellow hair, 
his cheeks glowing with health and manly exercises, his 
broad shoulders and fine athletic figure and noble air, 
made him a fine type of the higher classes of his coun- 
trymen. His finely-proportioned limbs were covered^ 
closely with purple cloth. A hraccon, or vest, of saf- 
fron-colored silk, fastened with large emeralds set in gold, 
■covered his breast ; while the close sleeves of a flowing 
mantle of some fine and glossy fabric gave him all the 
advantages he could desire in the use of his arms. Over 
the whole was thrown a fallung, or cloak, of ample di- 
mensions, which, after he had received his guests, was 
taken away by an attendant. Arm in arm with the young 
Count of Bretagne, and followed by Abaris and the Saxon, 
he led the way into the great hall of Innistore, where 
tables loaded with viands of every description, and wines 
from every clime flashing in the light, were spread be- 
neath banners and other trophies of victories of the past. 
Knights and squires and mail-clad men were standing in 
gay groups through the hall : there was an animated hum 
of voices, the inspiring music of harps, the rattle and ring 
of arms, and a general hum of expectancy and pleasure. 


MONA TEE VESTAL. 


203 


But there was a hush when the prince entered with his 
guests, — a hush which lasted only long enough for him 
to introduce them to the company ; then uprose such a 
clamor of greeting and welcome that, alarmed, Ulric of 
Heidelberg, with his eyes fixed on the great smoking 
rounds of venison, laid his hand on the hilt of his dagger, 
while Clotaire, overjoyed to be once more among his 
peers in age and rank, gave himself up to the excitement 
of the hour, and won his way to every heart by his frank 
and noble demeanor. 

After the feast began the chase, over hill and dale, 
over moor and brae, until the echoes rang with the shouts 
of the hunters and the baying of their hounds. 

As the sounds grew fainter in the distance, the vestals 
of the temple, released from their tasks, sought the shade 
and shelter of the sacred grove, to enjoy an hour of relax- 
ation in innocent sports and converse. Far down, where 
the wood skirted the shore, Mona, pensive and alone, was 
wandering. Her mood was mystical and dreamy; and, 
to avoid the merriment and light-hearted jests of her com- 
panions the vestals, she had stolen away, and ran she 
knew not whither, until, reaching a little knoll, she saw 
through a narrow vista the distant ocean gleaming in the 
sunshine. All was silent there, except those sweet sounds 
which tranquillize the soul in solitude. The moan of the 
ocean, the chirp of birds over their new-made nests, the 
soft rustling of leaves as the wind stole through the 
branches, made low, sweet music ; and Mona, tired and 
spent, threw herself down on the budding moss, where, 
yielding to the influence of the scene, a tranquil but un- 
utterable sadness stole over her. Her dream haunted 
her; Dairene’s legend troubled her: she felt that she was 
on the eve of some wonderful event, which threw its 
shadow over her soul. Suddenly there was a crashing 


204 


3WNA THE VESTAL. 


of branches near her, and, starting round, she beheld a 
savage wolf, with red eyeballs and frothing mouth, fixing 
himself couchant for a spring toward her. With a wild 
cry of alarm, she sprang up, and, leaning backward 
against a tree, clasped her hands on her breast, defense- 
less, and fearing to breathe or move, lest she should feel 
those deadly fangs fastening in her throat. Her veil was 
thrown back, and her hair, bursting the gemmed fillet 
that confined it, fell in wild disorder around her. Her 
face was white and ghastly, yet, with its expression of 
deadly anguish, was surpassingly beautiful. The wolf 
glared on her, sure of his prey. She closed her eyes. 
He leaped toward her ; but, ere he reached her, a spear, 
aimed with unerring skill, had penetrated the side of his 
head and cleft his skull. Mona fell senseless to the earth, 
and her deliverer, rushing forward, lifted her in his arms 
and bore her rapidly along until he reached a thread-like 
tarn that rippled down over the rocks into the mossy 
pool blow. 

Never before had Clotaire of Bretagne seen loveliness 
so rare and perfect ; never before had the sight of woman 
inspired him with such tenderness. He touched her face 
lightly and reverently, as he threw back her hair to lave 
her forehead. He could not tell why, but to gaze on 
those beautiful and motionless features made him feel 
almost guilty of sacrilege. He held his hand under 
the waterfall, and was in the act of sprinkling Monads 
face again, when a hand was laid heavily on his shoulder, 
and a voice, in accents of alarm, whispered, — 

'‘Fly! My brother Abaris approaches! She is a 
vestal of Nerf 

It was the Prince of Munster who spoke the warning. 
Ulric of Heidelberg was with him, gazing down with a 
rude and triumphant expression on the insenible Mona. 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


205 


may not leave her thus, be she what she inay,’^ 
cried Clotaife, gathering the folds of her veil over her 
face. I have just rescued her from the fangs of a fero- 
cious wolf.” 

^^This is madness, sir count. It would destroy her 
to be found thus. Ha I she revives I” 

Mona opened her eyes, and, finding herself leaning on 
the bosom of a stranger and surrounded by knights, she 
uttered a low cry, and, covering her face with her hands, 
sprang away, and was soon lost to view in the overhang- 
ing gloom of the woods. By this time the wolf-dogs had 
found the carcass of the savage beast they had been 
chasing all day, which, with loud yelping and deep- 
mouthed cries, they tore and tossed. On Mona sped, — 
up the cliffs, along the narrow footpaths skirting the sea, 
until she reached a range of high overhanging rocks which 
jutted out, a picturesque headland, into the frothing 
surges. Drenched with spray, on she went, over the 
jagged rocks and slippery ways, until the startled sea- 
birds flew shrieking and circling around her, — until the 
wild weird commotion of the surf beating on the cliffs 
and rushing up into the narrow caverns which indented 
the shore shut out the echo of the deep-mouthed baying 
of the dogs and the shouts of the hunters. Then she 
paused, gasping, panting, and trembling, and looked 
eagerly around for a place of shelter, when she espied 
near her a narrow opening, which seemed to lead far 
back into a deep and irregular cavern. Into it she crept, 
and, to her great joy, saw, far back, a lamp burning in a 
niche, which threw a pale light around. Going toward 
it, she discovered a nook in the wall of the cavern, heaped 
up with dried leaves and moss, on which she threw her- 
self, exhausted and fainting, and soon a soft slumber 
stole over her. She did not know how long she had 

18 


206 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


slept, when she was aroused by voices speaking near 
her- in low, muffled tones. Scarcely breathing, she list- 
ened. 

It is nearly midnight, and they are not here yet.’’ 

If the tide is not too high, they will surely come.” 

Then Mona heard no more for an instant or two, for 
the wind roared through the cavern, filling it with spray. 
Then, as it subsided, she heard the words sacrifice,” 
“polluted,” and “death;” and, folding her hands over 
her bosom, she thought of her mother, and prepared to 
die, feeling assured th^at those who were speaking were 
emissaries of the Druids, who had tracked her hither for 
terrible and mysterious purposes. ^ They spoke again. 

“ I will wait a few moments longer. Arrange the 
altar-stone, and place the tapers on it. I will uncover 
the crucifix and sacred vessels.” 

“ Oh,” thought Mona, wringing her hands, “ what hor- 
rible fate awaits me ? I dare not speak. All is mystery ! 
Oh, hapless Mona! Oh, faithless vestal!” 

“ I hear them coming ! Hark ! one, — two, — three ! 
There are four of them,” said one. 

“ Welcome, my children !” said the other, who now 
came forward a little, in full view of the trembling Mona, 
who saw, as she crouched farther back, that he was a 
venerable stranger, of noble and benign aspect; and while 
those who approached him — a woman, a youth, and two 
men, all closely muffled — knelt at his feet, he spread his 
hands over them, saying, “May He whom ye have to 
adore be thy reward!” 

“ The holy names be glorified forever !” said one of the 
men ; “ but we had danger and death to grapple with on 
our way. The Druids and people are out searching for 
one of the vestals of yonder temple, who, it is feared, has 
been lured off by a demon. Some say they saw a Ban- 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


207 


shee flying over the rocks at sunset; but we, who cared 
little for the clamor, pretended to join the search for the 
protection of our lives, and finally reached here in safety, 
thanks be to the Father, to the Son, and to the Holy 
Ghost continued the man, reverently crossing himself. 

“Awful words I What mean they gasped Mona, 
shuddering. “ Oh that day-dawn would come, that 1 
might return to Dairene 1’^ 

“ We have brought our son Cormac to receive the 
waters of baptism, which thou, holy Finian,* hast prom- 
ised he shall receive to-night,” said the woman. 

“ Dost thou believe, Cormac, in God the Father, Creator 
of heaven and earth ?” said the venerable man, turning 
to the youth who stood modestly before l\im. 

“ I believe,” was the response. 

“Dost thou believe in Jesus Christ, His divine Son, 
who, coequal with the Father, was born for our redemp- 
tion and died for our salvation, and who, rising from the 
dead, ascended into heaven, where, at the right hand of 
the Father, He liveth to make intercession for us?” 

“ I believe,” answered the lad, earnestly. 

“ Dost thou believe in the Holy Ghost, the Lord and 
Giver of Life, who proceedeth from the Father and the 
Son, who together with the Father and the Son is adored 
and glorified, — the third person of the adorable Trinity?” 

“ I believe.” 

“ It is well, 0 beloved son, that our God has in his in- 
finite mercy blessed thee with the gift of faith ! When 
the holy mysteries are celebrated, and the others receive 
the bread of eternal life, I will pour on thy head the 
sacred waters of regeneration, which will make thee one 
with us in the household of Faith,” said the holy man, 


St. Finian, one of the precursors of St. Patrick. 


208 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


turning toward the rude altar, which was now arranged 
in order for the celebration of the holy mysteries. On it, 
and leaning against the dark-gray walls of the cave, was- 
an ivory crucifix, before which stood a chalice and paten 
of gold, covered with a rich veil of silk fringed with 
pearls, and four lighted tapers of wax, whose sharp rays 
falling on the ivory Christ revealed all the awful beauty 
of its chiseled agony. 

It is He I’^ whispered Mona. It is He ! Those 
outstretched hands, — those wounds, — that awful crown! 
0 Unknown ! 0 lovely and sorrowful One, save me 
Then, silent and awe-struck, the poor vestal folded her 
hands over her bosom, and watched with eager, burning 
eyes the celebration of the divine mysteries. From her 
niche she saw it all, but could hear nothing ; for the tide 
was up, and the surf was foaming through the abysses 
and rents below, with a deafening roar. When the holy 
Finian, adoring, elevated the stainless Host, beneath 
whose mystic veil the humanity, the divinity, and the 
unmeasurable love of a God are hidden, — when those 
present bowed their heads to the rocky pavement to pay 
Him homage, — a sense of the presence of a mighty power 
overshadowed Mona’s heart. Her dream, and all that 
Hairene had told her, — the legend, — the holy name of 
God, — the death of Jesus Christ, — ail seemed blended 
together with this midnight mystery. She could not de- 
fine her sensations: the Spirit of God was breathing over 
the darkened waters of her soul, but she knew not what it 
was : she only felt that henceforth the temple, the sacred 
fires, Nerf, and the Druids were less than nothing to 
her, — that there was a higher and a diviner Truth, which 
she must find, — that the Deliverer of whom she had 
dreamed, and the Christ of whom she had heard, were 


3WNA THE VESTAL. 


209 


one and the same being, whom not to know was eternal 
loss. 

“They will leave me here in darkness, and will per- 
haps never return again ; or I may be discovered by the 
emissaries of Semo and die in my ignorance,’^ whispered 
Mona, as she saw the venerable Finian turning to leave 
the altar. “0 life ! what art thou, compared to the joys 
of the celestial realms of the Deliverer ? Rather lose all — 
life itself — than such glorious hope And, obeying the 
supernatural impulse that governed her, she glided for- 
ward, downcast and trembling, and fell at the feet of 
Finian, imploring his compassion. 


CHAPTER YL 


THE VESTAL OP CHRIST. 

^‘She is a vestal! — one of the vestals of Nerf!’’ ex- 
claimed one of the men, starting back with a look of 
horror. 

Who art thou, and what dost thou here, poor child 
asked the good Einian, in a gentle and compaosionate 
voice. 

I am Mona the vestal. I was pursued a fero- 
cious wolf, and fell into the hands of strange men, from 
whom I escaped and fled hither for safety,^’ she replied, 
meekly. 

‘‘ She will betray us to the Druids ! Let her perish, 
0 Einian! Better that one pagan should die than that 
scores of Christians be destro3^ed,’^ exclaimed the man. 

‘‘ Better, O my son, that a score of Christians receive the 
crown of martyrdom than that one soul should perish, 
replied the saintly Einian, pointing to the crucifix. Re- 
member Him who, betra3"ed by one of His own household^ 
insulted and abused by His foes, expired in cruel torments^ 
on the ignominious cross for the love of us, who knew 
Him not. Let us imitate His divine example, and count 
all things — even life itself — as nothing for His dear sake ! 
We will protect thee, trembling one, and return thee in 
safety to thy home.’’ 

“ I have no home. All that I have seen and heard to- 
night makes me an outcast from yon temple which was 
my home. But who are ye, who would suffer death for 

( 210 ) 


MONA THE VESTAL, 


211 


me so willingly?’’ said Mona, amazed at, the noble senti- 
ments she had heard. 

We are Christians,” replied Finian. 

What is that? Do ye worship Tienne and Nerf?” 

“ We worship One who is mightier and holier than 
Tienne, — God, the Creator of hea\^en and earth. Tienne 
is only the element of His power, the creation of His 
hands, who, if He so willed it, could be darkened and 
hurled away from the face of the heavens forever. Nerf 
is one of His lesser creations, subject also to Him, who 
is the Supreme Lord of all 1” 

“A mighty God!” whispered Mona, with awe. ^^A 
mighty God 1 And He whom ye were adoring, whose 
bowed head and outstretched arms and wounded side 
bespeak some great sorrow, — who is He ?” 

The Son of God, who, to save mortals from the 
wrath of perdition which their dark ingratitude and sins 
merited, took on Himself the form of man, and tasted of 
suffering and death for their deliverance. A man of 
sorrows, and afflicted with griefs, He became our brother, 
'making all who believe co-heirs with Him of the king- 
dom of heaven.” 

The Deliverer ! Oh, noble, — oh, generous, — oh, di- 
vine act ! Cannot I also believe and adore Him ?” she 
asked, eagerly. 

^‘Not if thou dost worship false deities and place faith 
in demons ; for such are the oracles on whose revelations 
thy priests rely. Our God is a jealous God, and will 
have no other gods before Him,” replied Finian. 

“ I spurn all that is false, O holy man 1 Why should 
I worship the untrue ? Let me do homage only to the 
true and living God,” -said Mona, with simplicity and 
earnestness. ^ 

“ Thou art ignorant, poor child, of the dreadful doom 


212 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


that awaits thee if it is discovered by the Druids that 
thou hast forsaken the worship of the temple to become 
a Christian. Torments, and a slow, lingering death by 
fire, amid diabolical rites, would be the penalty of thy 
offense. What sayest thou now asked the good 
Finian, while all listened breathless for her answer. 

“ I could but die,’^ said Mona, while her dark eyes 
brightened, and a smile lit up her face like a glory, — 

I could but die for the love of Him who died for me.” 

Blessed art thou, 0 child, in thus receiving from 
Almighty God the supernatural gift of faith ! Blessed 
art thou in being willing to suffer stripes and death for 
the love of Jesus Christ I” cried the holy Finian, spread- 
ing his hands over Mona’s head. To-morrow seek me 
here ; and, after instructing thee, I will give thee Holy 
Baptism, without which no man shall see God. After- 
ward thou shalt learn all the mysteries of our holy faith, 
— a faith whose fruition is immortal life and an eternal 
perfection of bliss. ” 

I know not how to thank thee. A new world opens 
around me, through which I see, dimly, fair visions like 
those I beheld in my dream,” said Mona, in a low and 
gentle tone. But whither shall I go ? Except the tem- 
ple, I have no home on earth. Shall I abide here ?” 

“ Here, poor child ? On this barren and deserted rock ?” 
asked Finian. 

'' I fear not solitude. Except this, I have no shelter 
on earth.” 

“We come hither at stated times to celebrate the holy 
mysteries and administer the divine rites of our faith ; 
otherwise it is lone and deserted.” 

“ Lady,” said the mother of the boy who was to re- 
ceive baptism, “ I am a poor fisherman’s wife, used to 
hardship and danger, and, if thou wilt, can remain here 


MONA THE VESTAL, 


213 


with thee. My son shall bring us provisions and keep 
guard about us until a better place is provided for one 
so gentle and fair.’’ 

“ Thanks, mother,” said Mona, humbly kissing the 
rough hand of Lena, the fisherman’s wife; “thanks!” 

“ Thy wit is ever ready, Lena,” said her husband. “ I, 
like the pagan I used to be, was for throwing the dark 
eyed maiden over the cliffs into the sea, fearing for our 
lives ; but thou — ah, thou dost know how to be a Chris- 
tian indeed. Thou wilt bring blessings on my poor 
roof.” 

“Silence, Stephen!” she said, with a smile: “thou dost 
forget the orphan sons of him who was thy foe, who now 
live, fed and cherished beside thy hearth ! It is true, 
father : they were left bare and homeless, and Stephen 
brought them in his arms, wrapped in his fallung, and, 
in the name of Christ, bade me be a mother to them.” 

“ God’s blessing be on ye both, my children! Go on: 
emulate the virtues of the saints, and in this holy strife 
keep the soul’s eye fixed singly on Christ Jesus, who 
will be your exceeding great reward. Take care, good 
Lena, of this the wandering lamb of His fold, who sighs 
to enter the peaceful pastures of which He is the Shep- 
herd. It was a happy thought, and a courageous one, 
to remain with the maiden. Now, Cormac, art thou ready 
to receive holy baptism ?” 

“ Yes, father, I am ready,” replied the boy, coming 
forward. 

Then all gathered around the saintly man, while he 
administered the sacrament of baptism to the youth, ex- 
plaining, as he proceeded, every part of the solemnity, 
until it was over and Cormac was declared to be a son of 
the Church. “ These life-giving waters have erased the 
stain of the fall ; thy soul, purified and regenerated now, is 


214 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


clothed in a white garment, which see, O son, that thou 
carry unspotted to the judgment-seat of Christ.’’ Then 
the little band knelt down, while he gave them his bless- 
ing, after which they dispersed, leaving Mona and Lena 
alone in the cavern. 

‘^Rest thee, lady,” said Lena, shaking up the moss 
and spreading her gray cloak over it. “ Try and sleep. 
I will watch beside thee till morning.” 

But, like a tremulous lily swayed to and fro by a soft 
wind, Mona’s soul, full of new and holy thoughts, could 
not rest : there was no repose for it. One moment, like 
the flower, it was lifted upward, then in its weakness and 
sweet humility bowed earthward ; now it turned to the 
shadow, now to the sunshine, but all the time diffusing 
fragrance which floated upward to its newly-discovered 
Lord in praise and thanksgiving. 

“ What is baptism, Lena, and what the stain of which 
the holy man spake ?” 

^'Gentle lady, I am poor and unlearned, and fear I 
cannot in my humble language make plain my meaning,” 
replied Lena, with humility. 

Thou art not so ignorant, O Christian, as 1 1 Until 
this hour I have been in darkness. Then tell me what I 
ask, concerning that stain which only the waters of bap- 
tism can erase,” said Mona, gently. 

‘‘ That stain, noble lady, means the pollution of our 
natural state. When the great God created heaven and 
earth. He created man, a pure being, in His own image 
and likeness, and also a woman, unsullied and innocent, 
a companion for the man. The delights of the new earth 
were theirs, — communion with God and companionship 
with angels. They daily walked with the fair sons of 
God, and held the scepter of dominion over the realms in 
which He placed them. But the great foe of God and 


MONA THE VESTAL.. 


215 


man — the devil — gained entrance into that kingdom of 
peace, and tempted those favored ones, the father and 
mother of our race, to an act of disobedience ; and, trans- 
gressing the law of their Creator, they fell from their 
pure state, brought sin and death into the world, and 
closed the celestial gates of heaven. Driven from the 
glorious home of their innocence, the guilty pair wandered 
forth into a bleak and barren world, repentant, and prac- 
ticing the works of penance in labors and suffering. But 
all creation groaned and travailed for deliverance. The 
race of man, which had multiplied on the earth, walked 
in the shadow of death and withered under the maledic- 
tion of the Most High, until, moved to pity. He so loved 
the world as to give his only begotten Son to die for our 
salvation. He came, — Jesus the Deliverer. He opened 
a fountain of living waters, in which the soul may be 
cleansed from the pollution of the fall. He instituted a 
Divine faith and Divine sacraments. He died for oiir 
salvation, and, rising again from the dead, ascended to 
heaven, where He liveth to make intercession for us ; and 
as He entered into His heavenly kingdom He left wide 
open the celestial gates for all to enter in who believe.’’ 

“/believe !” said Mona, with clasped hands, while the 
remembrance of her dream in the temple flashed over 
her. “ Canst thou pour these purifying waters over me ?” 

“Not I, — oh, no, lady! It is only those who have 
Divine authority to administer the holy sacraments who 
can do it. In case thou wert dying, and no help at hand, 
then it would be lawful ; but not now.” 

“ Dost thou know,” said Mona, laying her small white 
hand on Lena’s cheek, where it lay like a snow-flake, — 
“dost thou know that I feel within me a new life, — a 
something grand and beautiful, which rises up, and up, 
and up, until, lost in starry realms, I hear strains of deli- 


216 


3WNA THE VESTAL. 


cious music, and see forms of light, like white birds with 
the sunshine on their wings, flash by me ? What is it 

“It is thy soul aspiring after immorlality. But hark I 
What sounds are those, lady ?’’ said Lena, starting up, 
and creeping toward the mouth of the cave, whither Mona 
followed her. Looking down along the shore, they saw 
crowds of men, who held aloft blazing torches, hurrying 
to and fro, peering among the crevices and rocks, and 
skirting the border of the woods, in search of something 
lost. Loud shouts mingled with the wild howl of the 
unleashed beagles, who coursed up and down, tearing 
and tossing the sands, in search of the trail, which at a 
certain point the surf had washed out. As they came 
nearer, she heard them shouting, “ Mona ! Mona ! Mona ! 
where art thou and saw Semo, his white hair floating 
on the wind, almost frantic, directing the search here and 
there. 

“ They seek me said Mona, sadh^ 

“And should they find thee, lady, what wouldst thou 
say 

“I would say, I am no longer a vestal of Nerf, but a 
vestal of Christ,’’ she replied, firmly. “ But see ! — see ! — 
they come nearer : they will find their way into the 
cavern. I cannot die without baptism. Behold ! they 
turn their footsteps hither. Quick I quick, Lena I” she 
cried, in tones of anguish. 

“O God I if it be for Thy glory and our salvation, 
save us. Thy weak servants, in this hour of peril, and 
forgive the meanest of Thy little ones if, in the moment 
of tribulation and death, she pours the waters of regene- 
ration on this child, who wishes to belong to Thy king- 
dom,” said the holy woman, lifting her eyes to heaven. 
Then, stooping down, she scooped up a handful of water 
from a hollow in the rock, and was about pouring it on 


MONA TUE VESTAL. 


21t 


Mona’s head, who knelt, meekly and pale, at her feet, 
when suddenly the clamor ceased, the beagles were off on 
a false scent, and, coursing down into the woods, were 
followed by Semo and the yeomen of the temple, and the 
shore was left dark and lonely, with no sound to disturb 
the solitude but the eternal moan of the restless sea. 

The next day was dark and lowering. A fine rain 
driven by easterly winds added to the chilly and gloomy 
aspect without. Within the temple all was silent and 
dismal. In a lofty apartment, lighted only by the sacred 
fires burning with blue and flickering gleams on their 
silver tripods, sat Semo, in a chair of gray stone, beneath 
a canopy of black marble elaborately carved in foliage 
interspersed with faces of unearthly grotesqueness. His 
head was sunk on his bosom, while his dark robe, on 
which were embroidered in gold and jewels the signs of 
the zodiac, was folded over the lower part of his face, 
leaving visible only his broad forehead and deep-set eyes, 
which gleamed out from the shadow of his brow like 
living coals. Before him stood the young Counts of 
Bretagne and Heidelberg, with Abaris the bard. 

“ Clotaire of Bretagne, if thou wert not a stranger 
who came hither in good faith to study in our schools, — 
if thou hadst any other plea than ignorance of the sacred 
laws of Erin, — this day would be thy last,” said Semo, 
slowly. But I believe thy story, albeit it differs in a 
degree from some accounts I have heard,” he continued, 
glancing toward the Saxon. I have watched thee 
closely the few days we have been together, and, from 
unmistakable signs, I know that a lie is not in thee. But 
let not this lesson go unheeded. Thy ignorance of the 
laws of our religion, which make it death to touch a ves- 
tal of Nerf, and the act itself, which, apart from the 
offense, was noble and chivalrous, acquit thee.” 

19 


218 


310 y A THE VESTAL. 


Venerable sage,” said Clotaire, bending on one knee, 
I am grateful for thy clemency. But pardon me if, 
scorning all mean shifts and crooked ways, I ask thee 
what is perhaps a rude question.” 

Semo nodded his head in reply. 

‘^Are the vestals of Nerf vowed for life to the service 
of the temple ?” 

'‘Why askest thou, stranger ?” replied Semo, looking 
down to hide a fierce light which was kindled in his eyes. 

" Because, if they are not, and can be released from 
their vows, I would pay a royal ransom for Mona,” he 
said, eagerly. 

" Thou wouldst buy her ? There are slaves in Erin, 
but they come from Britain, — from Gaul, — from Rome. 
No native of the land has ever been in bonds,” he re- 
plied, in suppressed tones. 

“Enslave Mona! I would wed her!” exclaimed the 
noble youth. 

“ Thou wilt never wed Mona. Forget her. Count of 
Bretagne, forget her; or it may not go well with thee.” 

Just then a wail rang wildly through the marble hall, 
and Dairene rushed in, tearing her hair, frantic in all her 
gestures, and fell sobbing at the feet of Semo. 

“ Why this anguish, Dairene ?” he asked, in a cold and 
severe tone. 

“ Mona ! Mona ! the light of my heart is no more ! 
she has fallen from the cliffs into the sea ! Here is her 
veil, which a fisherman found hanging on the Tock from 
which she fell ! Oh, child of my age ! thou art lost to 
me forever !” 

“Thou hast forgotten the presence of strangers. Cover 
thy face, Dairene, return, and hang the shrine and statues 
with cypress and poppies,” said Semo, coldly ; but his 
lips quivered, and a shudder, scarcely perceptible, passed 


3fOI^A THE VESTAL. 


219 


over him; for Mona, whose life he had saved from the 
sacrificial knife, had been the only human joy of his 
existence: he delighted in her as in a fair and fragrant 
flower, which, strengthening and growing in brightness 
and splendor under his fostering care, he had offered 
spotless and fresh to his deities. 

Ye can retire. Be ready to start ere dawn to-morrow, 
toward Tara,” he said, calmly. 

As they left the apartment, a door at the upper end 
was opened by a feeble hand, and a Druid, arrayed in 
his sacerdotal robes, entered, lie was older and more 
bowed than Semo, and there was an expression of 
blended fear and horror on his countenance as he tottered 
toward him. 

“Aged Moriat, what brings thee hither ? Thy limbs 
are weak and faltering with the weight of years. I 
would have come to thee,” said Semo, stretching out his 
hands, and leading him to his own chair. 

“I may not tarry, O Semo. Strange marvels have 
come to pass. Calamities threaten the land ! The oracles 
but rarely reply to our invocations : they have by some 
mightier Power been almost silenced. But to-day, when 
I offered sacrifice to Tienne, there came a sound like the 
rushing of mighty wings, and the sacred fires were sud- 
denly extinguished. A heap of blackened ashes was all 
that remained of the victim and the glowing coals on 
which it lay, while a voice issued from the shrine, — it 
sounded like a wail from Tartarus, — crying, ‘Never 
more ! Henceforth we are chained in silence. Behold, 
the King enters His inheritance to rule over those He 
has ransomed with a price. Never more ! — never 
more I’ ” 

“It is an evil omen,” cried Semo, wringing his hands. 
“ Our power is departing from us. Corraac gave us the 


220 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


first blow. The second we received in the grove of Tara, 
when the King of the Jews was crucified in Palestine, 
filling the earth with blackness and horror, as if a God 
had died. The third is at hand! Woe for the priests 
and bards, woe for the temples and shrines, of Erin !” 
And, covering his face with his robes, he wept. 


CHAPTER YII. 


TARA. 

A PARTY of weary travelers was winding slowly and 
cautiously through a dark and narrow gorge, whose outlet 
was concealed from view, either by an abrupt turn or by 
the heavy mist which obscured the day-dawn. Not a word 
was spoken. Some sat upright in their saddles, enjoying 
such fitful repose as only extreme fatigue invites ; others 
gazed on the blank mist which surrounded them, with a 
dreamy and abstracted air. The very horses looked sul- 
len and hungry, as their hoofs rung on the loose pebbles 
and rocks which obstructed the path. An aged man rode 
in their midst; his voluminous robes were wrapped closely 
around him, almost concealing his face, — while his bowed 
head and his silent and majestic air invested him with an 
aspect of great dignity. It was Semo, the Arch-Druid, 
with a party of Druids, bards, and brehons, on their 
way to Tara, for the twofold purpose of assisting at the 
grand festival of Baal and of being present as peers of 
Erin at the assembly of the Estates of the nation. The 
two foreign nobles, Clotaire of Gaul and Ulric of Germany, 
under the escort of Abaris the bard, who had been ap- 
pointed by Semo as their Mentor and associate, rode 
together. The German wore a dissatisfied and hungry 
expression on his handsome features, while he of Bretagne, 
somewhat moody, indulged in sad, fruitless thoughts, 
which did little honor to his powers of self-control and 
good sense ; for he still cherished wild love-visions of 
Mona the vestal. 


19 * 


( 221 ) 


222 


MOXA THE VESTAL. 


“Noble Abaris,” he said, at last, in a low tone, to the 
princely bard, “ cannot we spur on a little faster, thou and 
I ? I can bear many evils with patience, provided I have 
two things which are essential to my existence, — sunshine 
and air. This horrible mist sulfocates me.” 

“ It weighs heavily on me also. Methought thou wert 
sleeping off some of the weariness of incessant travel. 
But follow me. We have only to gallop to the summit 
of the nearest hill to meet the morning in its glory,” said 
Abaris, checringly. 

“ Hill I Where shall we find such a landmark in a sea 
of vapor like this ?” 

“ We, who know where those landmarks lie, can find 
them in the darkest midnight. Follow me,” replied 
Abaris, reining up his steed, which, obeying the signal, 
shot forward, like an arrow from a bow, and was lost to 
view in the mist. Pursuing the sound of his horse’s feet, 
Clotaire followed him. For several minutes they galloped 
on in silence over a level country ; at last he found that he 
was on rising ground, which his jaded horse ascended with 
difficulty. Guiding him slowly up, cheered by the voice 
of his companion, who was still unseen, he ascended by 
slow degrees the narrow and rugged mountain-path, until 
he reached the summit, where he found Abaris, standing 
with folded hands and bowed head, looking toward the 
east, where a golden halo, glimmering through the white 
vapor, announced the rising sun. Clotaire dismounted, 
and leaned against a gray rock, waiting patiently until 
his orisons were over. 

“ It is brighter here ; but this cloudy barrier still shuts 
out the view,” he said. 

“ Be patient ! I already feel the breath of the southwest 
on my cheek. It is moving like a spirit through the 
earth-cloud, which is rippling and flowing away like a 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


223 


shaded river toward a sun-bright sea. It will soon be 
lifted heavenward, where, burnished with glory, it will 
canopy the pathway of the sun. Like the spirits of the 
just, who shake the dust from their robes to enter into a 
more glorious life, it leaves this ignoble earth to bathe 
in heavenly mysteries,’^ said the bard, in a rapt tone. 

“ How sayest thou, Abaris ? Is there another life than 
this, into which the just pass after death ? If so, what 
becomes of those who, while living, stain the earth with 
their crimes ?” inquired Clotaire, earnestly. 

“ They also pass into another life ; but it is in the form 
of some ignoble brute or poor insect,* where they remain, 
enduring all the evils incident to its state, yet filled with 
a keen and immortal intelligence which makes their pun- 
ishment more horrible. Thus their souls are transmi- 
grated through progressive grades, until they develop a 
repentance and purity and wisdom to which they were 
strangers on earth, when they are released. Thus thou 
dost perceive that rewards await the just, and punishments 
the wicked,” said Abaris, fervently. 

“ What is the code which must be adopted to procure 
the immortal life of reward asked Clotaire, with interest. 

“ The general laws of this grand code are benevolence, 
tenderness, forgiveness of injuries, and love of enemies. It 
is full of benignity and gentleness. It forbids sensuality, 
love of pleasure, and attachment to worldly objects.” 

And suppose these laws are transgressed, — for nature 
must be perfect to practice them : is there no atonement ?” 

None. We make our own destiny, whether for good 
or evil. But thou wilt know more in proper time. The 
mysteries of religion must be taught in the solemn gloom 


^ The doctrine of Metempsychosis was one of the dogmas of the faith 
of the Druids. 


224 ' 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


and silence of the temples. Wilt thou listen ? for the 
spirit of song is on me. Hear the plaint of the blind and 
aged Oisin,” said Abaris, uncovering his small, gold-strung 
harp, which he always carried with him. He swept his 
hands over the keys, and to a plaintive and murmuring 
accompaniment which was interspersed with notesexpress- 
ive of deep feeling, he sang, in clear and softly-modulated 
tones, the Lament of Oisin :* 

I behold, 0 Sun, thy beams no more, 

Whether thy yellow hair flows out 
On the light eastern clouds, or thou 
Tremblest at the gates of the west. 

Thou art not like me ! Thy years will have no end, 

Neither shalt thou sleep in the clouds. 

Careless of the voice of the morning ! 

Exult then, 0 Sun, 

In the strength of thy youth ! 

Age is dark and unlovely ; 

It is like the glimmering of the moon 
Through the mists of the hills. 

When thy eyes flash through broken clouds.’^ 

Then, in more stirring strains, the bard, lifting up his 
voice from the soft recitative, sang the following anthem, 
while his eyes, flashing with the spirit of song, gazed 
toward the reddening east. 

Whence are thy beams, 0 Sun, 

Thy everlasting light ? 

Thou comest forth in awful beauty. 

And the stars hide their heads in the sky ; 

The moon, cold and pale. 

Sinks in the western waves ; 

But thou, — thyself, — who can be 
The companion of thy course ? 

The oaks of the mountain fall ,* 

The mountains themselves decay with years ; 

The ocean sinks, and grows again; 


From Barron Harrold’s translation of Irish poetry. 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


225 


/ The moon herself is lost in heaven ; 

But thou art forever the same, 

Kejoicing in the brightness of thy course. 

When the world is dark with tempests, 

When thunders roll, and lightning flies. 

Thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds 
And laughest at the storm. 

And while the young bard’s voice rang in silvery notes, 
floating out on the air like a spirit-song, the wind fresh- 
ened, and lifted the gray mist upward, where, meeting the 
sun-rays, it brightened and glowed like flaming banners 
in the zenith. Far below them, Clotaire of Bretagne be- 
held a scene of rich and picturesque beauty spread out. 
Rath and glen, brae and knoll, all dappled with the snowy 
hawthorn and tinted with edges of light, lough and wind- 
ing river, rolling lands rich with growing harvests, hoary 
forests, distant plains dotted with cots and villages, the 
lofty Betagh-houses and their rich pastures and roam- 
ing herds, distant crags and purple hill-sides, where 
proudly uprose the chieftain towers and lordly strongholds, 
while here and there, rising like gray Titans amid the 
landscape, stood the high towers of the Druids, where, 
like the Egyptians and Chaldees of old, they studied the 
mystery of the planets and exercised some of the most 
awful and secret rites, of their pagan creed, — all, bathed in 
undulating shadows or gleaming with crimson and gold, 
greeted the stranger’s eyes. 

Dius Fidius I’Hie exclaimed, shading his eyes with his 
hand, while he gazed delightedly down : — “ this is worth 
a world-wide travel to behold. But ha I on this side I see 
a splendid city, filled with palaces of marble, over which 
innumerable banners, whose blazonry I cannot distinguish, 
are unfolding to the winds. Beyond, on the height of a 


The same. 


226 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


gentle eminence, I see a magnificent palace, whose splendid 
pillars and majestic arches, whose noble porticoes and tur- 
_rets of fretted marble, whose lofty statues and gleaming 
fountains, strike me with wonder, as the dark forest throws 
out the whole in the broad s^unlightl Noble bard, do I 
look on Tara 

Thou art right, noble stranger. This is the city, that 
the palace of Tara,^’ replied the bard, proudly. There 
dwells Laogare, monarch of all Ireland, and within its 
halls of legislation, every third year, the four provincial 
kings, the princes, the nobles, the chieftains, the Druids, 
the bards, the brehons, the ollahms, the commanders of 
battalions, and the master-artisans, meet to deliberate on 
the affairs of the nation, repair abuses, and dispense 
iustice. It is called the ‘Assembly of the Estates of 
Tara.”^ 

“And that palace to the right?’’ 

“That,” replied A baris, with a smile, “is one of the 
wonders of the world, which fills every foreigner with 
amazement. It is the Griannan-na-Niengliearij where the 
wives, daughters, and sisters of the princes, knights, and 
chiefs of Tara regulate, in deliberative council, all the 
affairs appertaining to their sex and rank.” 

“ Women !” almost shouted Clotaire. “And are their 
decisions laws?” 

“ Their decisions are laws.” 

“ Dost thou know, sir bard, that this thing, which is 
indeed a novelty, increases my veneration for Erin ? 
Where religion, learning, heroism, and women are so highly 
esteemed, the people must needs be refined, intelligent, 
and patriotic. But now pardon me, for I shall ask thee 
perchance a rude question ; but it is suggested by thy 
own noble and lofty qualities, to an imitation of which I 
shall aspire.” 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


227 


“ Thou art mj pupil. All that I know thou mayest 
command/’ replied Abaris, well pleased with the frank 
and courteous manner of Clotaire. 

‘‘Are not th}^ talents, thy eloquence, thy bravery, wasted 
in the occupations of what seems to me a useless order ? 
Why not leave music to women and troubadours, as we of 
Gaul do, and buckle on the sword and shield of thy fathers, 
that thy name may become glorious ?” asked Clotaire, 
earnestly ; for he had learned to love the gentle bard, as 
well as admire his elevated character. 

“Know, 0 noble stranger,” replied Abaris, speaking 
with grave eloquence, “ that I would not exchange my 
bardic character for the most powerful throne in Europe. 
Our functions are sublime and holy, and it is by no ordi- 
nary labor that we attain to the highest dignities of our 
order. We are trained to arms ; and, though not bearing 
arms in the field, we excite the chieftains and soldiers to 
valor by singing the glories of their fathers. Our persons 
are held sacred by contending armies, who consider any in- 
jury inflicted on us a sacrilege. During an engagement we 
animate the troops with the Kusga-Catha, and when we 
give the sign of truce the fierce might of battle ceases, to 
listen to the voice of our negotiations. We march with 
our chiefs at the heads of armies, our only arms the harp, 
our only defense the white robes of our order. While the 
battle rages, we stand apart, and watch in security every 
action of our chiefs, and not only record their noble deeds, 
but also any dastardly act they may be guilty of. Another 
of our important functions is, with pomp and pageant, and 
with all the ceremony of lamentation, to bury the dead. 
If a prince or a chief falls in battle, we utter his fame, and 
inscribe it in psalters for posterity. The Druids perform 
the sacred rites, the Seanachai recites his funeral song, 
which is sung over his grave by a Becai'aidej who sus- 


228 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


tains his voice by striking the keys of his harp, while the 
symphonies of the solemn ceremony are performed by 
minstrels, who chant in chorus at intervals, in which they 
are joined responsively by attending bards. Then we 
soothe the tumultuous passions of the living, and impress 
on their minds a reverence and imitation of the virtues of 
the dead, — their excellence and heroism. 

“He to whom the bards refuse those last offices is 
deemed accursed, and his spirit wanders, in darkness and 
gloom, through woods, morass, and fen, where the piping 
winds blend their lament, and the Banshee’s moan in ter- 
rific sounds together. For these accursed ones the pro- 
bation of transmigration of spirits is denied.”* 

“Pardon me, noble Abaris,” said Clotaire, reverently. 
“ Thy vocation is indeed enviable. Thy order is indeed 
the genius of enlightened government, — a mighty magi- 
cian, who swayeth the minds of men at will. Brute force 
and brute triumphs are admirable ; but those who con- 
quer and subdue without arms are worthy of all honor.” 

“Our functions do not disqualify us for the highest 
honors in the gift of the nation,” continued Abaris. “ The 
greatest and wisest of Erin’s legislators and kings was 
JEochaidh, a bard, whose reign constitutes the most mem- 
orable epoch in our history. Being a prince of profound 
learning, and wishing to unite his reverence for his order 
with his royal dignities, he assumed the name of Ollahm 
E oDHLA.f But let us drop these grave matters, and di- 
vert ourselves with the scenes below. 

“By Pallas! those throngs of mortals, who in every 
direction are moving toward Tara, with banners of green 


For a full description of the order of bards, see Mooney’s very agree- 
able and instructive History of Ireland.” 
f Learned Doctor. 


MONA THE VE:.TAL. 


229 


and gold, which gleam in the sunlight, only a degree 
brighter than the robes they wear, remind me of the 
great tournamq^it I once saw at Paris,'^’ exclaimed the en- 
thusiastic young noble. 

“It is not only a fair pageant,’’ said Abaris, proudly, 
while his cheeks glowed and his eyes flashed, “ but in all 
the scene you behold evidences of a nation’s glory and 
prosperity. But we linger here too long; let us hasten 
away to rejoin Semo, who is even now approaching the 
south gate of the city,” 

“ Shall we, Ulric of Heidelberg and I, reside with Semo 
at Tara?” inquired the young count, anxiously. 

“Nay, noble stranger: Semo will spend his time 
between the council-chamber and the temple. Thou and 
Count Ulric will be the guests of my father, the King of 
Munster.” 

“And thyself, Abaris: — we shall not be separated, I 
hope?” 

“ I belong to the temple also. My duties will leave me 
no time for social pleasures,” he replied, gravely. 

“I shall not be so churlish as to refuse the proffered 
hospitality of thy house, for I, like all my countrymen, 
am fond of the courtesies and refinements of life; but — 
but — pardon my forwardness — are there no daughters 
belonging to thy father’s household ?” 

“I have five sisters, sir count, who are called the 
crown-jewels of Munster, because they are as good as 
they are fair, and a mother whose matronly virtues are 
the glory of her family,” said the bard, with tender pride. 
“ Of my five sisters two only are at home. One is the 
consort of the King of Ulster ; one — the youngest and 
loveliest — is a vestal of Nerf ; one is lady of honor to the 
Queen of Laogare. Under the auspices of my mother 
and the two maidens who remain wdth her, thou wilt see 

20 


230 


JWKA TUB VBSTAL. 


not only the beautiful maids of Erin, but the customs and 
manners of our highest classes. Now for a gallop over 
the plains of Magh-Breagh toward Tara.”, 

When Semo, with his cortege, reached the gates of the 
city, he was met by a courier from the monarch, who 
handed him a vellum billet, and informed him that one of 
the royal chariots, with an escort of honor, awaited his 
pleasure. He opened the note, which contained only a 
few words, and without a remark entered the chariot, and 
was driven rapidly off toward the palace of Tara. 

In a lofty chamber, whose walls were incrusted with 
Italian marlde and gold, — where the light flowed in 
through glass windows which were stained in gorgeous 
dyes, — where chairs and couches of carved oak, inlaid 
with silver and pearl and covered with the richest stuffs, 
— where from the slender pillars hung draperies from 
the looms of Egypt and Ind, — where, under shaded 
arches, set far back, like sacred things, were heaps of old 
Etruscan and Phoenician manuscripts, — where stood a 
table covered with charts, treaties, and Milesian books of 
law, with implements of writing in gold and silver, — 
where, in a place of honor, stood a harp studded with 
jewels, — was the monarch Laogare. lie was a tall, majes- 
tic-looking personage, who wore hfs kingly robes with a 
royal air, and whose countenance indicated intelligence, 
frankness, and wisdom, with an occasional flash in his 
eyes which also told of an ardent and impetuous temper- 
ament. His usual expression was cheerful, dignified, 
and unclouded ; but when Semo the Arch-Druid entered 
his cabinet, his countenance wore a flushed and troubled 
look. He stepped forward, and, after saluting the aged 
Druid, led him to a seat beside his own. An attendant 
entered with refreshments ; but Semo — rigid in all the 
observances of his order — partook only of a thin cake of 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


231 


wheaten bread and a goblet of water, then, turning to the 
king, awaited in grave silence tlie opening of the busi- 
ness which had brought him hither- with such unusual 
speed. 

Thou wilt pardon me, venerable Semo,” said the 
monarch, “ that, having matters of grave import weigh- 
ing on my mind, — matters which threaten the ancient 
institution of Erin with danger, — I have thus hastily 
sought thy counsel.’’ 

‘‘ Whatever bodes evil to Erin, O king, bodes it also to 
me ; and whatever threatens her monarch touches the 
soul of mine honor,” said Semo, slowly. 

‘‘ But this foe aims directly at thy order. It would 
overthrow the power of the temple, and crush the dogmas 
which we inherit from our forefathers the Phoenicians.” 

A shudder passed over Semo, which shook his robes ; 
but, commanding himself, he replied, in calm, firm tones, — 

I am old and calm I Speak out, royal Laogare ; 
speak out ; and if this evil can be remedied by my coun- 
sels, they are thine. If they are powerless, let the Rusga- 
Catha ring through Tara, and the foes of Erin be swept 
away by her chiefs, like chaff before the whirlwind.” 

Know, then, that one who calleth himself Patricius 
has landed in Drogh-heda, where the Boyne falls into the 
sea, and is preaching his strange doctrines with such 
fervor that not only the people, but many of the nobles, 
have been converted to his novel creed. He declares 
that the religion taught by the Druids is vile and idola- 
trous, while the God whom he worships is powerful and 
alone worthy of the homage of mankind.” 

Just then the door opened, and the arch-poet of Laogare 
entered, with alarm and trepidation depicted on every 
feature. Not heeding the presence of Semo, in his im- 
petuous haste, he knelt before Laogare, exclaiming, — 


232 


IIONA THE VESTAL. 


“ Royal sir, Sesgnon, the Lord of West-Meath, with 
all his family, has embraced the doctrines of the auda- 
cious stranger Patricius, who preaches an atonement 
through a crucified God, and pours libations in his honor 
on the heads of all who receive his word.^^ 

“ Sesgnon ! sayest thou Sesgnon is a traitor to the re- 
ligion of his fathers ? Sesgnon, the bravest and most 
honored of our chiefs ? Send hither the Grand Master 
of the Knights of Tara. But hold, Dubtach ! where 
hath this infidel, this stirrer-up of sedition, concealed 
himself?” cried the indignant monarch. 

“ He scorns all concealment, royal Laogare, and is 
even now encamped at Firta-Fir-Tiec, on the banks of 
the Boyne, with his disciples,” replied Dubtach. 

Summon the Knights of Tara and the Red Branch 
to the rescue !” cried the monarch, more than ever en- 
raged. I will in person lead them out to destroy this 
man, who beards us on our very throne.” 

^‘Monarch,” said Semo, ^’ising, ‘‘think not that I have 
traveled from the mouth of the Shannon to Tara with- 
out learning something of this man. A native of Gaul, 
he was in early youth sold by pirates to one Milcho, who 
appointed him to the care of his herds. After serving 
his seven years, he returned to the continent, from thence 
to Rome, where, by his address and great art he secured 
friends, who advanced his interests and fortunes at court. 
He returns to Erin as the ambassador of Celestine, the 
sovereign of Rome, endowed with munificent gifts and a 
patent of nobility, which gives him a rank next to em- 
perors. Hence we must be cautious. What we would 
withhold from the man must be conceded to the ambas- 
sador. The vengeance of our outraged and insulted 
order could and should easily crush the man, were he not 
invested with the robes of an imperial envoy. Let us 


MOXA THE VESTAL. 


233 


wait. He lias as yet only seduced men by false doctrines ; 
but should he encroach a hair’s breadth beyond the limits 
of his functions, let the gods be avenged.” 

“ Speak on, venerable Semo : thy words are full of 
wisdom,” said Laogare. 

Two days hence,” continued the Arch-Druid, “the 
Baal-fire will be kindled on the plains of Magh-Breagh. 
Send a proclamation to Patricius, warning him that all 
fires must be extinguished, according to the ancient laws, 
on that day, and no spark kindled except the Baal-fire, 
from which alone it will be lawful for him, as well as the 
natives of Erin, to rekindle the blaze on his hearthstone. 
Then summon him to appear with his credentials, the 
following day, in the hall of Tara, where, before the 
assembled power and wisdom of Erin, he can declare his 
mission.” 

“ Go, Dubtach, with two of the knights of Tara, and 
courteously give greeting to the stranger Patricius, in- 
form him of our customs, and invite his attendance before 
the congress of Tara,” said Laogare, throwing himself 
back, with a wearied look, in his chair. Semo, gathering 
up his robes, glided out, to be present at the rites of the 
temple, where they were waiting for him, and Dubtach, 
the bard, withdrew to fulfill the commands of the mon- 
arch. 


20 * 


CHAPTER Till. 


THE BAAL-FIRE. 

Through the gate of a broad marble court, Abaris, 
the bard, conducted his guests toward the vestibule of 
the royal palace of his father, the provincial King of 
Munster. Here he, in his father’s name, welcomed them 
in courteous and affable terms, after which he spoke a 
few words of greeting to the numerous attendants who 
thronged with reverential affection around him. 

We will now seek my mother and sisters, noble sirs,” 
he said, inviting them, with a graceful gesture, to enter. 
Passing through an oblong hall, paneled with oak, they 
entered an apartment in the form of a peristyle, sur- 
rounded by slender pillars of polished marble. In the 
midst of the marble floor, whose inlaid pattern of colored 
stones vied with the painter’s skill, was a fountain, which 
threw up toward the fretted ceiling two tiny jets of water, 
which, issuing from the throats of serpents whose scales 
were of gold, descended again in crystal gems over the 
mosses and flowers and winged myths which were 
arranged about the marge of its artificial basin. The 
products of Ind and Greece, statuary from the sculptors 
of the Cyclades, vases of silver and porphyry from 
Egypt, loaded with spices or rich flowers, hangings of 
silk, mirrors of steel, lamps of gold on pedestals of ala- 
baster, enriched the scene.* 


It must be remembered that Ireland, at this period, was the seat of 
civilization, learning, luxury, and refinement. 

( 234 ) 


310NA THE VESTAL. 


235 


The rojal matron of Munster, hearing of her son’s 
arrival with two strangers, hastened to welcome them. 
Indescribably tender and respectful was the demeanor of 
Abaris toward his mother, while hers to him was full of 
maternal pride, deference for his bardic character, and a 
deep, quiet air of love. She was a stately matron, who 
yet retained the brightness and freshness of youth, chast- 
ened by a dignified and graceful demeanor in fine keep- 
ing with her age and station. She received the two 
foreign nobles, the friends of her son, the guests of the 
nation, with a welcome so kind and cheering that it at 
once placed them on the footing of friends. Won by the 
elegant grace of Clotaire, and not chilled by the sullen 
courtesy of Ulric, she went out, and returned with her 
daughters Eileen and Eva, to whom she made the stran- 
gers known with words of commendation, after which she 
led the way to the eating-hall, where a table was ready 
spread with every delicacy and substantial dish which 
the culinary art of the day had introduced. Here Ulric 
of Heidelberg grew unctuous and bland, and convinced 
Clotaire, — who generally observed his movements, be- 
cause he mistrusted his character, — by the dexterity with 
which he disposed of the viands, that his vaunted heroism 
was all bombast, and his ruling passion gluttony. 

Conversation and music whiled the hours away until 
evening, when they went, with the King of Munster, to 
pay their court at Tara to the Queen of Laogare, after 
which they witnessed the midnight procession which 
opened the Bealtin mysteries. The next morning the 
mother of Abaris invited them to accompany herself and 
daughters to the opening of the council of the ladies at 
the Griarinan-na-Nienghean, where they were dazzled by 
the beauty and splendor of the fair members of the coun- 
cil; from thence to the sacred grove, where the Druids 


236 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


and vestals performed solemn ceremonies in view of the 
people ; after which they proceeded, in chariots, to the 
plains of Magh-Breagh, to witness the games and races 
of the Athletas. 

Thus, in a continual whirl of pleasant novelty, two 
days of the great festival sped by. But amid the pomps 
and pageants, the splendors and pleasures, of the scene, 
the thoughts of Clotaire wore one sad hue; his heart 
was shaded by its first grief; he had loved and lost in 
the same hour. As lightning sometimes impresses sur- 
rounding objects on the flesh of the victim it has stricken, 
so Mona’s image, her wild, tender eyes, her splendid 
beauty, were indelibly stamped on his memory. In 
every scene, in sunshine and shadow, it walked with his 
inner life, and through its medium he saw all exterior 
things. 

“Wilt thou accompany us to the procession of the 
vestals of Nerf to-night ?” asked Eileen. 

“By all means,” quickly replied Ulric. “Count Clo- 
taire would rather lose his spurs than the sight of the 
pageant.” 

“It is very solemn and beautiful,” replied Eileen, not 
perceiving the covert sneer, “ though the vestals are all 
veiled, and we can only imagine the loveliness and youth 
they have vowed to Nerf.” 

“Are those vestals never seen unveiled. Count Clo- 
taire ?” urged Ulric, with a malicious sneer. 

“It depends entirely on circumstances, I presume^ 
Count Ulric. Thou art aware that there are sometimes 
imperative circumstances which will not even allow the 
chastisement of insolence. Inexorable events may also 
tear off the drapery from the vestal’s brow,” he replied, 
pointedly. 

“Are the vestals of noble birth, or are they chosen 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


237 


from the people inquired TJlric, turning to Eileen, to 
hide his confusion. 

'‘Some are of noble birth, — a few of royal parentage. 
Many are the daughters of the people. We have a sister 
who is a vestal of Nerf Naoni.’’ 

“A sister ! It seems to my rude understanding that 
there are only three things in Erin to which all pay un- 
divided homage, — religion, learning, and hospitality.” 

"Yes, we pay homage to these; but they are not, be- 
lieve me, the only objects of our veneration,” she replied, 
smiling. "But tell me,” she continued, as the Count of 
Bretagne led her sister to the harp; " what is this mys- 
tery about the vestal ?” 

" Only a little amour of the Count of Bretagne’s, of 
which he is ashamed. He managed to see one of the 
vestals of Munster without her veil, and became despe- 
rately enamored of her charms. Unfortunately for him, 
she disappeared, and he has been wearing the cypress 
ever since,” he replied, in a low, sarcastic tone. 

An expression of horror shaded Eileen’s face as she 
glanced toward Clotaire, who, all unconscious, stood be- 
side her sister, turning over the music as she played; and, 
after a few remarks on indifferent subjects, she left the 
room to seek her mother, to whom she imparted the news 
she had just heard. Ere long a messenger came with a 
courteous apology to the two nobles, and a request to the 
Lady Eva to attend her mother, who was going to the 
palace of Tara on a visit to the queen. Chagrined and 
disappointed, Ulric cursed his stupidity and the malice 
which fell so speedily back on himself, while Clotaire, 
glad to be released, and happy in the prospect of solitude, 
hurried away to indulge his sadness by watching the 
vestals and thinking of Mona I 

The next day was the grandest of the festival. Thou- 


238 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


sands and tens of thousands, in holiday attire, came in from 
hill and valley, from country-side and their homes by the 
distant sea, and congregated on the plains of Magh-Breagh. 
Tara emptied its thousands on the plain. From the banks 
of the Boyne, from the north and south, they still came, 
with pealing music and waving banners. With the 
braying of trumpets, the shrill scream of the pib?^och, 
the softer notes of harps, and the anthems of human 
voices, they swept on, — a human ocean, — and surrounded 
the lofty altar, built of long narrow slabs of white marble, 
piled together, which towered like an isle of rock-crystal 
in the midst of the plain. The monarch, attended by his 
consort and family, the provincial kings and their families 
and retinues, the nobles and chieftains, in chariots whose 
adornments were of precious stones and the trappings of 
whose horses were links of silk, and gold, wound slowly 
— a splendid cortege — through the multitudes, toward it. 
There was a temporary throne, covered with cloth of gold, 
erected near the altar of Baal, on which the royal Laogare, 
surrounded by his court, took his station, in view of the 
vast concourse, who made the welkin ring with their 
shouts of fealty when they saw him standing crowmed 
and robed in splendor, the protector of their own and 
their country's destinies. 

Each individual carried either an unlighted taper of 
wax, or a torch of resinous wood. Some of these were 
carved and twisted in grotesque forms ; some were decked 
with flowers ; some were moulded in the shape of birds, 
from whose beaks the oiled wick hung like a worm, others 
in the form of serpents, from whose open jaws it pro- 
truded like a tongue, while others, more elegant, were in 
the shape of flowers, the wick spread out in their cups 
like delicate stamens. However much these tapers and 
torches differed, they were all intended for one object, 


310 N A THE VESTAL. 


239 


which was to get light from the Baai-fire, to kindle the 
flame on their darkened hearth-stones. 

The city was deserted, and more- than a million of 
human beings were out in the plains of Magh-Breagh, — 
men of all ranks, ages, and climes, — to witness the so- 
lemnity. There was another feeling, besides reverence 
for the rites of their religion, which increased the interest 
of all present in the ceremonies. All had heard of Patri- 
cius and his doctrinal innovations. His tents on the banks 
of the Boyne were distinctly visible, and a rumor had 
gone abroad that he would in some signal manner show 
his contempt for the Bealtic ceremonies. At last, winding 
like a solemn current through the dense crowds, the 
Druids, bards, and brehons, led by the Arch-Druid Semo, 
moved along, to the sound of rolling anthems and deep- 
toned symphonies, toward the marble altar ; while the 
human masses, pressed back on either side, like receding 
waves, made a clear pathway for them, paying them 
lowly homage as they passed. The Druids, arrayed 
in their magnificent robes, wrought with gold and bla- 
zoned with gems, their flowing locks crowned by the 
square caps of their order, with grave looks and majestic 
mien walked together in ranks of two and two. 

The bards followed, arrayed in loose white cothas, con- 
fined about the waist by girdles, their limbs incased in a 
truise of weft fitting closely and fastened about the ankles 
with stripes of the exact number of colors peculiar to their 
order, their beards flowing, and their long thick locks 
bound with fillets of gold, with their harps hanging 
pendant before them, and received from the people, who 
believed them to be gifted with the powers of prophecy, 
a homage but little inferior to that they offered the Druids. 
After them came the brehons, or historians, clad in the 


240 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


distinctive dress belonging to tlieir rank, and followed by 
the sacerdotal attendants and scholastics. 

Meanwhile, Laogare, elevated by his position in full 
view of all, was observed to look pale and troubled, and 
threw more than one anxious glance toward the tents of 
the stranger, where all was silent and motionless. 

Semo, bowed and faltering, assisted by two Druids, 
who bore between them, on a tray of gold, the fagots, 
tinder, and implements for kindling the sacred fire, as- 
cended the steps of the altar, and, having reached the 
broad platform on top, stood with his head and hands 
uplifted, adoring the bright object of his worship A hush, 
like the silence of the dead, fell on the hosts around, who 
with breathless awe watched his slightest movement. He 
held in his hand a framed ciystal ; and, after his assistants 
had arranged the fagots and tinder, he held it — uttering 
incantations all the while — so as to intercept the direct 
rays of the sun, now beaming on the scene in unclouded 
glory, and concentrate them into a pow^erful focus. In a 
few moments a light wreath of white smoke curled up- 
ward : it was v/afted away, leaving in view a clear, high 
flame of fire, which burned steadily and brightly. When 
the people saw it, a tremendous shout of exultation rent 
the air. A burst of music, the clangor of trumpets, blended 
with the roar ; but suddenly it was hushed : a wild fear 
and fury seemed to have fallen on all, when they saw 
Semo, ghastly, and shaking in every limb, with his arm 
outstretched toward the tents of Patricius, where, blazing 
fiercely and brightly, a large fire flamed up in the air. 

“Behold, O son of Niall,’^ exclaimed Semo, turning to 
Laogare, — “behold, sons of Heremon and Ir, how the 
daring stranger defies our sacred law and throws his 
infidel scorn on our most solemn rites. If those flames 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


241 


are not extinguished and trodden out, I tell thee, O king, 
that he who kindled it, and his successors, will hold the 
sovereignty of Erin forever.” 

Yenerable Seino,” cried Laogare, in loud and distinct 
accents, ‘‘ the fire thou hast drawn from heaven is sacred. 
That which hath been kindled by yon stranger is common 
flame, which imparteth neither curse nor blessing. From 
its light the fires of Erin will not be rekindled. There- 
fore let it burn to ignoble ashes, while we light our torches 
at the sacred fires of Baal.” 

The Arch-Druid bowed his head, and another wild 
shout rolled upon the air, like thunder. 

^‘To-morrow,” continued the monarch, “this stranger 
shall answer for this insult to the representatives of all 
Erin, who will assemble in the great Hall of Tara, 
where he must either plead a good cause or suffer the 
penalty.” 

Laogare then gathered his robes about him, and, 
ascending the altar, adored for a moment, then held the 
point of his scepter, around which a taper of wax 
was twined, like a serpent, to the Baal-fire. When he 
withdrew it, and held it up, a small, strong flame was 
blazing on its point. This was the commencement of 
lighting up the hearth-stones of the kingdom from the 
Baal-fire. All who could, ascended and lit their tapers, 
or flambeaus, on the altar ; those who were less fortu- 
nate contented themselves with the privilege of borrow- 
ing from a neighbor, quite satisfied to know that it all 
came from the same source ; until the whole of that im- 
mense throng was supplied with a portion of the sacred 
fire, which they bore away rejoicing to their respective 
homes. 

Meanwhile, the fire of Patricius burned low, — the 
21 


242 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


white ashes were borne away like seeds on the wind ; 
but it touched the roots of a dark mythology, whose 
branches it would wither and consume. In its ruddy 
light the Baal-fire had paled its demon glow ; and, 
although the people knew it not then, it was to them as 
much a sign of promise as was the pillar of fire in the 
wilderness to the Israelites. 


CHAPTER IX. 


PATRICIUS. 

There were to be no public processions that night. 
In the hidden recesses of the temple, before mysterious 
shrines, the awful and concluding rites of the festival, on 
which no profane eye might look, were to be celebrated. 
But from the turrets and halls of Temora,"** from the 
palace of Tara, and from the city festive lights blazed out 
on the night, while the light sounds of music and mirth 
floated in sweet, wild echoes through the air. The streets, 
garlanded with flowers and brilliantly illuminated, pre- 
sented a scene of unequaled gayety and splendor. Every 
door was thrown open, and every portal wreathed with 
evergreens and roses. Ladies attired in silken robes which 
blazed with jewels, and attended by groups of nobles, 
princes, and knights, all arrayed in the magnificent and 
distinctive insignia of their respective orders, thronged 
the streets, saluting each other with pleasant words of 
recognition and many a gay jest, as they visited from one 
house to another, remaining a short time at each, uniting 
in the dance or song, exchanging words of cheer and 
greeting with friends, then flitting away to some other 
scene of splendor and hospitality. But in all of these 
gay assemblies might be seen groups of noble and grave 


The palace of Laogare, the monarch. 


( 243 ) 


244 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


men who discussed in low and impassioned tones the 
events of the day, — the audacious stranger whose tents 
were pitched on the banks of the Boyne, the prophecy of 
Seino the Arch-Druid, and all that would probably occur 
on the morrow, when Patricius, obeying the summons of 
the monarch, presented himself before the Assembly of 
the Estates. 

Amid all this whirl of hospitality and festivity, the 
palace of the King of Munster was probably the center 
of attraction. The beauty of the ladies Eileen and Eva, 
and the presence of the two foreign nobles, whose adven- 
tures and personal appearance rumor had exaggerated 
into something almost fabulous, attracted there the largest 
and most splendid company in Tara. 

Since the morning, Clotaire of Bretagne had noticed 
and felt a marked change in the conduct of the royal 
ladies of Munster toward him ; but, unconscious of 
offense, and stung by the cold courtesy of their manner, 
and also nettled by the self-complaisant and patronizing 
air of Ulric the Saxon, who seemed to be in high favor, 
but who was wise enough to present no tangible point of 
offense, he withdrew from the brilliant circle to search 
for silence and solitude. The sight of beauty crowned 
with roses, the sound of music ringing out the full ex- 
pression of the hearths poesy, the fairy, whirling, flashing 
dance, the dazzling lights, the lightsome jest and merry 
laugh, oppressed him; and, feeling all the sadness and 
isolation of a stranger in a strange land, although many 
a bright eye sought his, and many a beauteous face 
smiled on him to court a word or glance from the dark 
and noble stranger, he fled from it all, and wandered out 
beyond the gates of the city, across the plain, toward the 
river. There all was silent and dark. The pale glimmer 
of the stars over the scene, the sound of waves as the 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


245 


Boyne swept onward to the sea, added to the solemnity 
of the hour. Wrapping his toga closely about him, he 
quickened his pace, and, without an object except soli- 
tude, reached the shore of the river. Seeking a sheltered 
spot, which he soon found beneath a clump of willows 
whose long, green tresses swept the dark tide below, he 
paused to rest. 

On the opposite shore a glimmer of lights suggested 
to him, for the first time, thoughts of the stranger from 
Rome who had that day mocked the power of the Druids 
and showed his contempt for the superstitions of their 
old and time-honored creed. And then, in the midst of 
that gloom and silence, where, free from the brawl and 
battle and seductions of life. Nature uttered her oracles, 
the mind of the young noble, ever open to the inspira- 
tions of good, began a new life. His soul, insensibly led 
by its eternal affinities, soared beyond the material bound- 
aries which the world assigned it, and panted after super- 
nal strength and wisdom. He reviewed the magnificent 
pageant of Baal. Again he saw a nation surrounding 
that lofty altar, which now looked so white and ghastly 
beneath the stars. He saw the splendor of royalty, the 
chivalry of nobles, the wisdom and intellect of the age 
there assembled to pay superstitious reverence to a rite 
which they held sacred: He saw the Arch-Druid, the 
sage and virtuous Semo, the dispenser and enthusiastic 
high-priest of the mythology he taught, ascend the sacred 
pile, while below, breathless and awe-struck, a people 
waited in expectation for the kindling of that flame which 
they, in their docile faith, believed came from heaven. 
Then he remembered the pause, the thrill, the horror 
which pervaded this grand array of temporal and spiritual 
majesty, when from the rising ground of Firta-Fir-Tiec^ 
before the tent of Patricius, a bright flame, full of defi- 

21 * 


246 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


ance and scorn, shot sky-ward, a sign and warning to all 
who saw it. Who had done this ? A Cyrus or an 
Alexander, with hosts of legionaries to support and 
defend the aggression ? Had the barbarians from Britain, 
led on by their Roman masters, poured their wild hordes 
upon the wave-washed shores of Erin, and marched 
hither to throw down the gauntlet of war on the plains 
of Magh-Breagh ? It was none of these. Behind those 
tents lay no army. There were no hosts encamped under 
the shelter of yonder hills. Only Patricius was there. 
A single man ! A preacher of novelties and strange 
doctrines, and a scornful witness of the sacred rites of 
the religion of the land, — a defiant enemy of the old and 
cherished faith which their fathers had brought from 
Phoenicia ! The idea arose to sublimity. One man 
against hosts of men I who had come, avowedly not to 
assail mere opinions, but to destroy their temples and 
overthrow their altars. 

“ Dius Fidius ! he is a brave philosopher, this Patri- 
cius! He must be either reckless of life, or fully con- 
scious of a power that no human will can withstand. He 
is, no doubt, the master of great secrets. If he has faith 
in the superior excellence of his philosophy, — if he has 
discovered higher and brighter aims for man than those 
now known, — by the stars ! it is godlike to offer himself 
to be immolated for the truth. If he is an impostor, seek- 
ing greed and power and courting success by audacity, 
there is still something grand and heroic in his daring : 
Hercules himself dared nothing greater. Shall the lesson 
be lost on me ? Shall I, the descendant of heroes from 
remote antiquity, — conscious fully of all that I owe to 
the higher laws of virtue and morality, — with every in- 
stinct, I hope, full of good aspirations and truthful energy, 
— with the pride of a noble race, and the ambition to add 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


24t 


a brighter link to the ancestral chain, warming my blood, 
— shall I sink ignobly down beneath the first storm of my 
life ? Shall I die piping out my griefs because a blight 
has fallen on my heart? i^o, 0 Fate ! No, 0 Mona! 
Over thy ashes will I raise a worthier fame ! Inspired by 
thee, O lost love, will I consecrate my life to acts of 
heroic virtue, until, like Patricius, I can stand serene and 
fearless in the strength of my own power. Ha 1^’ exclaimed 
the young noble, suddenly thrown on his guard by the 
sound of approaching footsteps. He turned quickly, and 
saw a figure, muffled in a gray cloak of ample dimensions, 
standing beside him. 

“Who art thou, wandering beyond the city gates at 
this hour demanded the stranger. 

■ “ I deny thy right to challenge me, sir stranger,’’ re- 
plied the noble stripling. 

“ I am one of the guardians of the honor of Erin, and 
demand the reason of thy close neighborhood to the tents 
of the audacious Roman stranger.” 

“A close neighborhood, truly! Between us flows a 
broad, brawling river, over which are no bridges and on 
whose tide I see no curraghs. Dost take me for a bird 
or a fish ?” said Clotaire of Bretagne, with fierce sarcasm. 

“I know thee to be a stranger. To-day a stranger in- 
sulted the assembled majesty of Erin. I know thee, 
Count Clotaire of Bretagne !” 

“ Having no reason to be ashamed of my name, and 
with a good blade to defend it, I am Clotaire of Bre- 
tagne !” exclaimed he, drawing his Damascene blade from 
its sheath and standing on the defensive. “ Stand back, 
sir stranger : I am armed. Stand back !” 

“Forward is my motto, sir count !” said the stranger, 
throwing off his fallung^ while he sprang on him with 
an agile movement, and threw his arms around him in 


248 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


such a close embrace that the Saracen blade was useless. 
A scuffle ensued, during which the nocturnal assailant 
acted entirely on the defensive, and enraged his opponent 
still more by giving vent, several times, to a low, mirth- 
ful laugh. 

Think it no discourtesy,’’ he said, when at last, by a 
successful coup-de-main^ he held the stripling count at 
his mercy, — “think it no discourtesy, my pupil, if I have 
tested thee somewhat roughly ” 

“Abaris,” exclaimed the young count, dropping his 
cimetar, — “Abaris, thou hadst need to humble me thus, 
— to test my capabilities for self-government, of which I 
have been dreaming like a fool. But why seek me thus, 
noble Abaris ?” 

“I sought thee not. Chance led me this way, and, 
hearing the sound of a voice which I thought I knew, I 
came hither with a noiseless step, and heard thy dreams, 
and determined to assure myself that they were not the 
dreams of an idle boaster. But I have been wishing to 
speak to thee all day, but could find no opportunity. A 
message might have been useless. Thou hast an enemy, 
— a bitter, implacable enemy.” 

“ In Ulric of Heidelberg I I know it,” he replied, 
calmly. 

“ Yes. Already has he poisoned the hearts of my 
family against thee by his extravagant and insidious 
tales about thy adventure with Mona the vestal. But 
listen : be calm. This Ulric is a dastard ; and what 
punishment couldst thou inflict on such a thing which 
would be worthy a noble nature like thine ? Thou must 
either beat him like a dog, or murder him ; for he has not 
the courage to fight. For the honor of knighthood, thou 
wilt not do either ; for the mere gratification of the baser 
impulses of vengeance, thou shalt not be led into crime. 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


249 


Leave him to me, — the craven I I will strip him until 
his designs are apparent, and expose him to the contempt 
and ignominy he merits ; for in this land of ours treachery 
to friend or foe is ever visited with a wrath that withers 
the marrow in the bones, — a silent and stern wrath, which 
makes a leper of its object and drives him from the haunts 
of his kind.^^ 

He shall unsay this wrong I By Thor ! he shall unsay 
this foul lie shouted Clotaire. 

Can a serpent heal the wounds his poisonous fangs 
have inflicted ? Give him — thy contempt. Let him feel 
that he is powerless to harm thoe,’^ said Abaris. “ Think 
not that I have been idle. I sent my father to Semo to 
hear the truth. Be sure that thy fair fame did not suffer; 
for Semo regards thee with unusual favor. By this time 
my mother and sisters know all, and feel pained on ac- 
count of their coldness toward thee. Thou art already 
avenged ; for this craven knight was a pretender to the 
hand of my sister Eileen, who will now spurn him; for 
her high, proud nature would rather mate with an adder 
than with such baseness. As to Mona, forget her. Such 
puling grief is unmanly.^^ 

“I may not forget Mona. I would not forget her. 
She is lost to me, in one sense, forever ; but the thought 
of her, like some fair thing throned amid the stars, will 
lead me, lure me to build high my aspirations, until the 
deeds they give birth to are as pure as Mona,^’ exclaimed 
the young noble, with anguish on every feature. 

“ It is a bright myth ; and Death effaces the sacrilege,^’ 
said Abaris, thoughtfully. “ If, then, O Clotaire, my 
friend, the thought of the dead Mona inspires thee more 
fully with that active principle of good without which 
the longest life is valueless, cherish it. The softer emo- 
tions of our nature need discipline, equally with the 


250 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


baser passions: whatever feeds them insidiously exposes 
the noble soul to the dangers of sensuality,’^ replied the 
bard, with an air of grave affection. 

Noble Abaris, let thy superior wisdom be my safe- 
guard,” replied the young noble, with proud humility. 

Thou art always calm, and canst well guide the reins 
of my impetuous will.” 

Calm I Am I calm now ?” asked Abaris, abruptly. 

^^As calm and as cold as yonder sky,” replied Clotaire. 

Thou art deceived. My impetuous nature is only 
chained by a powerful will, which makes the pursuit of 
virtue its chief aim. But that which passed to-day on 
the plains of Magh-Breagh has roused all my inner self 
to a herce perturbation. I would have avenged by one 
fell blow the outrage of this daring Patricius,' who now 
seeks by stratagem what the Romans of other days 
sought by violence. Even now those lights which dance 
mockingly from his tents over the dark waves of the 
Boyne, rouse up the chained menials of my will to tu- 
mult and violence. But what a comedy is individual 
wrath against such monstrous provocation ! Erin shall 
never be dishonored in me. It shall not go down to 
posterity that one of her bards was the assassin of a 
defenseless stranger, although that stranger hath come 
with guile and insult to the foot of our throne and our 
altar.” 

But why heed so despicable an enemy, O Abaris ? 
He is alone and defenseless. What is there to fear ?” 

That which human power cannot sway,” replied 
Abaris, gloomily. ^^Yon stranger fills my soul with 
trouble. Even now there is wailing and weeping in the 
temple for the woe his coming foreshadows. He must 
be possessed of knowledge beyond mortal sense; or how 
dare he, unattended except by a few fanatics, and iin- 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


251 


armed, throw open contempt on the Bealtic rites ? If he 
is a mere spy, all will be well. But come with me.^’ 

In another moment the Count of Bretagne was seated, 
with Abaris the bard, in a curragh which lay moored 
among the sedges on the river-bank. Abaris grasped the 
oars and pushed out from the shore. The oars bent be- 
neath the sinewy strength of his arms, the light curragh 
shot out across the mid-channel, riding the waves like a 
feather, and in a little while glided up on the sands of 
the opposite shore. Everything about the little camp 
of Patricius, toward which they directed their steps, was 
wrapped in silence and repose. After searching around 
in vain for some indications which might betray him as a 
spy or invader, and reconnoitering every inch of ground, 
without the least interruption, they retraced their steps 
in silence, when suddenly the curtain which hung before 
the entrance of the tent of Patricius was drawn aside, 
and a person came hastily out, who, forgetting to replace 
it, passed into one of the tents in the rear. Standing 
back in deep shadow, Abaris and Clotaire, without being 
themselves exposed to observation, saw all that was in 
the tent of Patricius. They saw him, and wondered at 
his majestic and benign aspect, his noble air and intel- 
lectual features, and the symmetry of his well-proportioned 
frame. He was arrayed in the rich and flowing vest- 
ments of the Roman patricii, and wore, suspended by a 
chain of gold, an insignia of jewels and gold on his breast, 
which Abaris thought resembled those crosses which the 
Egyptians revered as emblems of immortality. He was 
refolding a parchment, which he secured carefully with 
cords of twisted silk, after which he knelt before a rude 
altar, on which stood a crucifix and taper, and, folding 
his hands, bowed his head with an expression of great 
humility, after which he made a sign on his forehead. 


252 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


breast, and shoulders, which they could not comprehend, 
and uttered rapid and fervent words in a language which 
they could not distinguish, while his eyes, uplifted, seemed 
to behold objects beyond mortal vision. They creep 
nearer, — for they see that he is so wrapped in adoration 
that he would not heed them if they stood before him, — 
and listen. They both understand him now, as, in the 
chaste and majestic language of Rome, he pours out the 
eloquence of his pleading soul for Erin. How he be- 
seeches his Lord, whom he calls Jesus, to enlighten their 
darkness, to strike olf their fetters, to overthrow the idols 
and abolish the power of demons in this His own inherit- 
ance ! How he implores the assistance of a Holy and 
Divine Spirit, of whose existence they have never heard, 
and beseeches Him to touch his lips with fire, that on the 
morrow he may preach salvation to the Gentiles, and, 
like Paul at Athens, make known to the rulers and princes 
of the people a crucified God. 

Abaris, intent and silent, almost breathless, leaned for- 
ward, the fine lineaments of his face so motionless and 
pale that they looked like chiseled marble, while his large 
eyes glowed beneath his massive brows like living sparks. 
But Patricius uttered no more. His uplifted face wore 
a look of rapt contemplation, while his features shone with 
a light that was flowing back and forth, between heaven 
and him, like a tide of glory. 

It is time for us to be gone,” whispered Abaris. 

“ Dost thou still feel troubled ?” asked Clotaire, as they 
glided swiftly through the gloom toward the shore. 

More than before, — a thousandfold more than before,” 
replied Abaris, in an agitated voice. To whom does he 
pray? Whence the light that beamed around him, like 
the light of a new day beaming behind the eastern hills ? 
He is some mighty enchanter or wondrous prophet ! 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


253 


Already I feel the shadow of stupendous changes. Quick, 
Clotaire ! — I am oppressed ! I suffocate ! — Away from this 
spot ! — out, out on the foaming river ! The wind rushes 
down on the flood tide — quick ! out with the oars. — There 
— so ! There !” he said, or rather gasped, as they threw 
themselves into the light curragh, which, unmoored, was 
swept out by the violence of the tide, and danced about 
like a bubble on the foaming river. A few powerful 
sweeps of the oar steadied it, and turned its prow shore- 
ward. 

When they landed, it was nearly day-dawn. The 
herdsmen were already leading their flocks out toward the 
glades and pasture-lands, and the ways leading into Tara 
were filled with country-people, who were bringing their 
produce to market, in hopes of reaping a golden harvest 
in exchange for their commodities. 

We shall meet in a few hours in the hall of Tara,’’ 
said Abaris, taking leave of Clotaire at the portals of his 
royal father’s court. '' Ha ! here is my mother ! Why 
abroad so early, my lady mother?” 

A happy and proud day to thee, Abaris, my son,” said 
the lady, kissing his forehead, “ and to thee, noble stranger, 
for whose coming I have watched since the departure of 
my guests. Pardon us if, too jealous of the honor of the 
vestals of Nerf Naom, of which order our fairest and 
dearest daughter is a member, we resented a slander which, 
at the time it was uttered, filled us with dread and horror. 
Pity our feelings when we thought that the sanctuary 
which shelters our daughter had been invaded by sacri- 
lege.” 

“ Royal lady, thou art too kind to a stranger. It is 
sufficient for me that I am justified, and cleared of a dis- 
honorable imputation,” replied the young noble, with a 
look of proud humility. 


22 


254 


310 N A THE VESTAL, 


We shall no longer be strangers, noble youth. Let 
me assume a mother’s place in thy regard while thou art 
absent from the noble lady of Bretagne, who may well 
feel proud of her son. Abaris,” said the lady, turning to 
speak to the bard. But he was gone; and, calling an 
attendant, she directed him to conduct the Count of Bre- 
tagne to the guest-chamber usually appropriated to royal 
visitors, and order refreshments. 

At an early hour of the day, people began tothrong’^up 
toward the hall of Tara. The minds of men were filled 
with vague apprehensions and expectations of some won- 
derful event, which for the time seemed to' exclude all 
those sentiments of national pride which had heretofore 
governed them on these occasions'. Murmurs and whis- 
pers ran from one to another, until the name of Patricius 
and the prophecy of the Arch-Druid were on every tongife. 

At last a peal of martial music burst on the air, and the 
great portals of the hall of Tara were thrown open. To 
Clotaire of Bretagne, who had gone up in the suite of the 
King of Munster and obtained an advantageous position 
which commanded an uninterrupted view, the coup-d^ceil 
was magnificent. The hall, five hundred feet long, was 
adorned with elegant pillars, which, like the walls, were 
incrusted with fine Italian marble. At the upper end 
was the throne, canopied over with rich silks heavily 
embroidered with gold, over which hung the shield and 
armorial quarterings of the monarch. This was sur- 
rounded by seats of honor, wrought of precious metals and 
ivory and decorated with jewels. The stalls or seats of 
the members of the Assembly were of highly-carved oak, 
and designated by the shields and insignia of the order of 
those to whom they were assigned. 

The monarch has taken his seat ; the princes of the 
Milesian blood-royal take their station near his person ; 


MONA THE VESTAL, 


255 


the four provincial kings surround him ; the Druids and 
royal bards file slowly in, and seat themselves in their 
places near the throne ; then follow the senators and com- 
mons of the Assembly, who fill the grand hall to its 
utmost limits, all seated according to their order and rank. 
On this day the riches and resources of the kingdom were 
well represented by the magnificence of the spectacle, and 
its strength exhibited by the loyalty and wisdom of men 
who wore on their countenances a grave forethought and 
determined patriotism. The splendor of the royal robes, 
the grave magnificence of the Druids, the light yet costly 
attire of the bards, and the rich robing of the nobles glit- 
tering with gold and sprinkled thick with gems, threw a 
glory over the pageant which dazzled and bewildered the 
eye. When all was arranged for the opening of the Assem- 
bly, the peal and clangor of music were succeeded by a 
grand flourish of trumpets, after which all was silent, — so 
silent that a deep breath would have rippled the stillness 
which pervaded that immense hall. The monarch Laogare 
arose, and, resting his hand on his jeweled scepter and 
throwing the other out with a graceful and impressive 
gesture, addressed the Estates of Tara: — 

Kings, princes, priests, bards, nobles, and chiefs ! Be- 
fore the regular business of the Assembly opens, we wish 
to give audience to one Patricius, — the same who dared 
to throw contempt on the Bealtic rites on the plains of 
Magh-Breagh. lie is here, we learn, under the sacred 
character of ambassador, and belongs to an order of the 
Boman nobility which ranks next to the imperial dignity. 
This fact is signified by his name. We should receive 
him with all the honors due to his rank, had he not in- 
fringed our laws and seduced our subjects. As it is, 
to signify our grave displeasure toward this impudent 
innovator, we command all who are here present to re- 


256 


MONA THE VESTAL, 


main seated when he enters.* Now, heralds, conduct 
Patricius before the Estates of Tara.’’ 

The eyes of Semo glared beneath his shaggy white 
brows, and the Druids turned fierce and vindictive glances 
toward the entrance, while the countenances of all ex- 
pressed a profound and curious interest. Each one had 
formed his opinion of the aspect and bearing of Patri- 
cius ; but none were prepared to see him enter unarmed, 
calm, and dignified in every gesture. Bare-headed, his 
noble and radiant countenance full of elevated and holy 
thought, his clear eyes truthful and beaming with the 
spirit of his mission, he walked slowly up the nave of 
the hall, and stood in serene majesty before the monarch 
and the Assembly. 

Noble stranger,” exclaimed Ere the son of Dego, a 
chief of royal descent, while he sprang up from his seat, 
such discourtesy were a disgrace to Erin. Sit thou 
here : I will stand, if needs be one must.”f 

The blessing of God and the stranger on thee, noble 
chief,” replied Patricius, laying his hand on the head of 
Ere. 

Thou shalt answer for thy contumacy, thou degenerate 
son of a loyal sire,” cried the monarch, in wrathful tones, 
to the noble and impulsive man, who stood with folded 
arms, unmoved and firm, by the side of Patricius, cast- 
ing around him a defiant glance, which took in all, from 
the monarch on his throne to the lowest individual present. 
“And thou, enchanter ! how is it thou darest to practice 
thy seductive arts in our very presence ? Whence come 
ye, and why ?” 

“ I come, 0 king,” replied Patricius, in strong, clear 
tones, which rang distinctly throughout the extent of the 


The words of Laogare. 


f Historic. 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


25T 


hall and reached every ear, — I come, O king, from my 
Lord the Pope, Celestine, Sovereign of Rome, who 
deigned to bestow on me, a poor man, surnamed Siiccath, 
and an humble priest, the puissant and noble order of the 
Patricii^ that his messenger might do no dishonor, by 
the meanness of his rank, to the splendor of the court 
which receives him. But, laying aside all considerations 
of earthly grandeur, I announce myself a priest of the Most 
High God, whose sole object in coming hither is to unfold 
to this nation the mighty plan of salvation, to make known 
to them the value and true destiny of their immortal souls, 
and preach to all one Lord, one faith, and one baptism.” 

A confused and wrathful murmur followed the speech 
of Patricius, blended strangely with assurances of pro- 
tection and expressions of admiration : then all was silent 
expectation once more. 

^‘Unarmed and defenseless,” continued Patricius, I 
have come with no other protection than that strength 
with which the grandeur of my divine mission invests me. 
I have come to bring to ye glad tidings of great joy ; to 
direct those who pour out their souls in senseless wor- 
ship to vain idols, to a true and mighty God, the Creator 
and sovereign Lord of heaven and earth, — to unseal rich 
treasures of grace, even to those who defile the earth by 
their idolatrous ministrations, and make known to all the 
immeasurable love and mercy of a God who immolated 
Himself for the salvation of His creatures.” 

Thou art a very Salmoneus, 0 Patricius, — a base 
pret^der, whom Tienne will consign in wrath to the 
righteous judgments of ^acus, when thy mad fallacies 
shall be washed away like the sands of the sea by the test 
of a mightier power than thy ignorance and presumption 
dream of,” said Semo, with a bitter and sneering laugh. 

But Patricius, inspired by divine light, spoke with 
22 * 


258 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


holy eloquence to that royal, priestly, and noble throng. 
With such force and unction, with such clearness and 
perspicuity, he unfolded to them with such sublime sim- 
plicity the grandeur of the designs of God for man, he 
told the story of Bethlehem and Calvary with such 
pathetic force, that the boldest hearts quailed, the most 
superstitious felt an undefined terror and misgiving which 
made them tremble, while not a few sheltered themselves 
behind the pillars and covered their faces with their robes 
to conceal their emotion. The Druids gnashed their 
teeth and clinched their hands until the blood started be- 
neath the nails, as the eloquence of divine truth rolled, 
like wrathful thunders, through the recesses of their 
souls. While Patricius discoursed on the sublime mys- 
tery of the Trinity, Semo, whose face was lurid with the 
wrath that raged within him, arose, and, with an air of 
triumph, exclaimed, — 

Thy story, O stranger, is full of wonders, which are 
strung together with rare and cunning power. The ig- 
norant, who are not accustomed to the divination of 
mysteries, or well versed in that art which can detect a 
subtle error in pleasing novelties, might receive these 
dogmas which claim a divine superiority over those which 
we profess ; but thou hast to do with men whose age and 
experience, whose wisdom and judgment, can discrimi- 
nate between pretension and reality, — between falsity and 
truth. There is one point in thy vaunted doctrines so 
utterly absurd that the poorest hind in Erin would laugh 
it and thee to scorn, — a fallacy which will destroy the 
entire fabric of thy false system. I allude to this Trinity, 
concerning which thou hast poured out a flood of elo- 
quent argument sufficient to drown us all — if it were 
not so utterly absurd. How can Three exist in one, and 
one in Three 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


259 


Patricias paused. He lifted his eyes heavenward, then 
turned to his disciple, Benignus, who was with him, and 
whispered a few words in his ear. Benignus left the hall, 
unmolested, while Patricias stood silent and patient, await- 
ing his return. A smile of .scorn passed from face to face. 
They thought that Semo had silenced Patricias. His 
downcast eyes and silence indicated defeat. 

“ He is preparing to escape,” whispered one. 

“ He has sent the crazed son of Sesgnen for some potent 
charm to aid him,” said another. 

We shall this day see the glory of Tienne vindicated I” 
I thought he was no match for Semo. But see ! his 
messenger returns: he presents something to him: it 
looks like a handful of leaves. Hark ! Patricias speaks.’^ 

“ To prove, 0 sage,” began Patricias, holding up to 
the view of all a shamrock, whose three leaves spread out 
in vigorous beauty from its slender stem, — “ to prove that 
I utter no absurdity, and the reality and possibility of 
the existence of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost in the 
unity of one Godhead, I have only shown you this hum- 
ble plant on which ye have ofttimes trodden, to convince 
ye that the truth can be made manifest by the simplest 
symbol of illustration.”* 

So simple, yet so convincing, was this practical argu- 
ment, that many who, having been almost persuaded, had 
yielded to the difficulties of the argument proposed by 
Semo, now declared themselves believers in the faith of 
Patricias. 

Then arose a din and tumult. Like stormy surges 
dashing against a rock-bound shore, all words, all voices, 
combined to swell the discord and increase the tumult ; 
and when Dubtach, the Arch-Poet of the monarch, left 


^ The words of St. Patrick. 


260 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


his seat and, pushing through the crowd, knelt at the feet 
of Patricius and asked for baptism, the Druids, covered 
with dread and confusion, clamored for his arrest, and 
prophesied ruin to the institutions of the land unless the 
Roman impostor suffered the extreme penalty of the law 
for sedition. But, lo ! two of their order — two noble and 
virtuous men — two ollahms held in high repute in the 
temple and schools — rush forward and declare themselves 
disciples of Patricius ; and now a youthful stranger, 
whose olive skin and black flashing eyes declare him to be 
a native of another land, whose noble bearing and manly 
beauty attract universal attention, throws himself before 
Patricius, asking to be initiated in the truths of salvation. 

Clotaire of Bretagne! thou art mad ! Hence I hence !’’ 
shouted Semo, when he saw it. “ Ila I what is this ? 
Abaris 1 Abaris ! Oh, my son ! my son 1 Thou false, too, to 
the religion of thy fathers. O king, arrest this man, who 
is robbing thee of the gems of the chivalry and talent of 
Erin. I will myself slay him!’’ exclaimed the infuriate 
Druid, separating the crowd right and left with his arms, 
which beat wildly about him, to open the way to Patricius. 

Hold ! hold !” said Laogare, springing before him and 
stretching his scepter over the head of Patricius, a sign of 
royal protection. The hall of Temora shall be stained by 
no deed like this.” 

“ Has the false tongue of the stranger beguiled thee 
alsd^ 0 royal Laogare asked Semo, panting for breath, 
and pallid with impotent rage. 

“ It is better, O sage, to believe than perish,”* replied 
the monarch. Semo could bear no more, but, rushing out 
of the hall, he fled, as last as his aged limbs would bear 
him, away to the innermost recesses of the temple. 


The words of Laogare. 


CHAPTER X. 


DAIRENE. 

The purple shadows of twilight lingered like a solemn 
dream over the earth. Like a veiled and silent angel the 
evening star waited beside the portals of night. Gentle 
dews descended like heavenly gifts, — all unseen until leaf 
and flower were set with translucent gems, all unfelt until 
the lonely blossoms of the wild-wood, and tangled vines, 
creeping through mossy glens, lifted their heads in refresh- 
ment, as on its earth-mission the spirit of the night passed 
over them. The waves seemed hushed to rest, and swept 
against the rocks and through the abysses that lined the 
rugged shore, in soft and murmuring echoes. The marble 
temple of Nerf, on its wild and beautiful promontory, and 
the distant turrets of Innistore, where a beacon-light 
always burned from sunset to sunrise, over which fluttered 
the national ensign gleaming with green and gold, loomed 
up gray and indistinct through the gathering mist. Every 
sound except the voice of nature was hushed, while, clear 
and wild, the song of the nightingale rang through the 
solitude in sweet reverberations. 

But now, along the margin of the woods, through the 
dim and shaded avenues which skirted the beach, white- 
veiled forms began to flit like wraiths, so fleet and noise- 
less was their motion; and anon low sweet symphonies 
swelled on the night-winds like spirit-music, so soft, so 
ethereal, so solemn were their tones. The vestals of Nerf 

( 261 ) 


262 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


Naom were keeping vigils in the sacred grove until the 
moon arose, when they would return to the temple to open 
the mystic rites in honor of her who was afterward wor- 
shiped in Greece and Carthage as Hecate. 

Dairene, sad and drooping, wandered away from the 
rest, to watch alone for the first gleam of that golden disk 
over the distant hills, which formerly she was the first to 
greet with choral hymns. Along the cool and misty shore 
she wandered, until the sound of the waves brought to her 
heart low, sad, whispering thoughts of Mona. She had 
ever been grave and silent ; but, since Mona had disap- 
peared, she was never heard to speak, unless when her 
duties as guardian of the vestals compelled her to do so ; 
and those who on rare occasions caught a glimpse of her 
face, which she kept constantly covered, declared that it 
was as the face of the dead. The younger vestals always 
hushed their laughter and ceased their jests when she 
came among them or passed through their midst. It w^as 
the only way in which they could show sympathy for so 
stern and silent a sorrow. Gradually she withdrew her- 
self from all association with them, except in the solemn 
rites of the temple, where she was always the first and the 
last to come and to go. In her fastings and vigils, she 
seemed to forget that she was mortal ; and it was no 
unusual thing for her to be found lying lifeless and cold 
on the marble pavement, where they had left her kneeling 
so rapt in the wild brooding of her anguish and the dark 
chimeras of her mistaken creed that they dared not call or 
touch her. She was conscious that she had become like 
a troubled phantom among her kind ; and it gave her no 
slight pang to feel that, wherever she moved, the shadow 
of her woe fell over lives to which time would bring 
its own bitterness ; but the feeling was buried deep 
down in her heart, and with few but gentle words she 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


263 


ever evaded all intercourse with the inmates of the temple. 
Her favorite haunts were along the sliore, and over the 
wild, precipitous ledges of rock that, barrier-like, lifted 
their sharp battlements over the sea. Twice, in the 
shadowy twilight, — far down on the beach, while with 
folded hands and downcast eyes she walked in deep mus- 
ing, — she heard the sound of garments trailing past her ; 
and once, at midnight, when the moon, gibbous and pale, 
looked down through racks of white cloud, she distinctly 
saw a form, flitting near her, so like Mona that she stretched 
out her arms to clasp it, and fell fainting on the shore. 

Now, gliding along with rapid motion, — but not so rapid 
were her steps as the wild throbbing of her heart, — cast- 
ing her eyes now toward the far-ofi* hills, now out on the 
shadowy sea, now upward where the star-spirits were 
lighting the golden fires on the altars of heaven, she 
found herself far away, in a wild and lonely place among 
the rocks, through whose narrow fissures the waters hissed 
like serpents. She paused to rest, while Memory the 
mocker lifted the pall from the shrine in her soul where 
lay the image of Mona. It- touched the dead form, and 
it started into life and warmth and beauty. But what 
were such visions to her ? She could not touch it ; she 
could not fold it to her bosom as of yore ; and, wringing 
her hands, she lifted up her voice, and, in her anguish, 
cried, — 

“Could I only have pillowed thy head, — could I have 
kissed thy cold clay, while I decked it with flowers, — had 
I watched thy fleeting breath, and gathered into my soul 
thy last sigh, as it left thy bosom, — there would be some 
sweetness in the bitter draught. But to think of thee, 
sunlight of my life I torn by the jagged rocks, tossed and 
bruised by the cruel waves, thy joyous beauty dashed out 
forever, and that voice, which to me was sweeter than the 


264 


MONA THE VESTAL, 


music of birds in spring Alas ! amid the roaring billow 

it shrieked for help unheard, — unpitied ! Oh, Mona ! why 
was it not I — I, the time-worn and time-weary Dairene — 
on whom this dark destiny fell 

** Dairene/^ said a low, sweet voice near her ; Dai- 
rene/^ 

Dairene turned quickly, and, tearing olf her veil with 
wild emotion, beheld Mona standing calm and beautiful 
before her. 

And didst thou hear me in thy spirit-home, O loved 
and loving one? Has Nerf Naom taken pity on her old 
handmaid, and sent thee to comfort me said Dairene, 
with awe, while she folded her hands over her bosom and 
knelt on the sands at Monads feet. 

Rise, Dairene. I am no phantom. I am Mona. I 
live,’^ she said, tenderly. 

Thou livestf Then let me touch thee ; then let me 
feel thee. There ! put thy arms about iny neck, and lay 
thy cheek to mine ! O Nerf Naom I it is true ! she lives I 
Mona lives 1 But, Mona, why this mystery ?’^ 

I have come to tell thee ; for I have watched thee 
these many days Thy anguish filled me with pity ; and, 
moved by my old love for thee, and a feeling still more 
divine, I have periled my life on this moment. Oh, 
Dairene, there is a great and holy God, the Creator of 
heaven and earth, whose creatures we are, — who so loved 
us that He gave His only Son Jesus Christ to die for our 
ransom. He is the Deliverer of whom I dreamed, before 
whose power demons and idols fall, the Lord and Maker 
of Tienne and Nerf said Mona, speaking rapidly. 

But — but — Mona,^^ gasped Dairene, confused, and half 
wild with horror, ‘‘come : let us return. Even now I see 
yon hill-tops luminous with light. Hasten with me, song- 
bird of my heart, lest we be too late for the midnight rites. 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


265 


I return no more, Dairene. I worship only the true 
and living God. Never more shall I bend the knee to 
idols, but, if needs be, will suffer death for Christ,’^ said 
Mona, in her sweet, clear tones. 

Thou art ’’ began Dairene, with a shudder. 

A Christian ? Yes,’’ replied Mona, lifting her head 
from Dairene’s shoulder, and unclasping her hand. 

Oh, hapless child of a faithless mother I Better had 
Semo struck the knife to thy heart years ago I Better had 
it been for thee hadst thou perished in the billows ! for 
then thou wouldst not be so lost to me as thou art now ! 
But thou shalt not escape. I will denounce thee, and, if 
need be, O sacrilegious one! mine shall be the hand to 
avenge the honor of Nerf Naom!’^ 

She returned to grasp Mona’s arm to drag her back to 
the temple ; but she had vanished ; she was gone ; and, 
uttering a wild and despairing shriek, Dairene ran leaping 
along the shore, tossing her arras and tearing her gray hair, 
until, overcome by maddening agonies, she fell prostrate 
and senseless to the earth. 

Mona had fled back to the cavern, where Lena, the 
fisherman’s wife, awaited her return with anxious dread. 
She looked so pale, and there was such a glow in her 
large eyes, as she entered, that Lena sprang up, and, fold- 
ing her brawny arm around the fragile one, led her, unre- 
sisting, to a seat on the rushes. 

1 have seen Dairene. I have spoken with her, Lena,” 
she said, in a low voice, while she panted like a hunted 
fawn. 

“ And how — what was her reception of thee ?” 

Rapture, — -joy, — until she learned that I was no longer 
a follower of Nerf Naom, but a follower of Jesus Christ. 
Then, in wild fury, she would have dragged me to the 

23 


266 


MONA THE VESTAL, 


temple and placed me at the mercy of the Drnids,” she 
replied. 

It is true, then, that this is no longer a refuge for thee,’^ 
said the good Lena, thoughtfully. My husband has 
been here, gentle lady, and tells me that while he was 
fishing many miles up the Shannon yesterday, near the 
shore, he saw a large party, among whom were Semo and 
the other Druids from Lough Tore, riding slowly along 
toward Innistore.. He has learned that there is to be a 
hue and cry after the Christians in these parts ; and, now 
that Dairene has discovered that thou art living, it will 
increase the fury of the Druids, and their keen wits will 
not rest until thou art captured. But there is one thing, — 
one way of escape, gentle lady: only it seemeth like inso- 
lence to propose it to one of thy degree,” said Lena, with 
respectful tenderness. 

“Alas, Lena, why such language to one like me ? Am 
I not too the servant of a crucified Lord ? The more 
suffering, the more humiliation, the more pain I have, the 
more shall I be like unto Him who died for me. Oh, 
Lena, this morning, when, under the sacramental veil, the 
holy Finian bestowed Him on me, — the sacred humanity, 
the immortal divinity, the mystical life of Jesus Christ, 
true, full, and entire, — my heart was so replenished and 
filled with such strength and love, that had I ten thousand 
lives I would offer them unreservedly to His glory,” ex- 
claimed Mona, with a radiant and sublime expression. 

“But, my child,” said Lena, humbly, while she gazed on 
the seraphic smile that lit up Mona’s face, “ simple obe- 
dience to the Divine will must be our guide. The holy 
Finian declares that it is our duty to avoid dangers ; for 
by a needless exposure of ourselves to the rage of our 
enemies we should incur the guilt of presumption and lose 
the exceeding great reward of martyrdom. In the hour 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


267 


of peril let us fly to shelter in the holy name of God ; 
then, when all fails, if it is the divine will that we seal 
our faith in the Word with our blood, let it flow, let it 
flow, 0 Jesus Christ, from our head, our hands, our 
side, for Thee, even as Thine flowed for us.^^ 

Lead me whither thou wilt, Lena. Thou seest I am 
but a weak child,” said Mona, kneeling down by the good 
woman’s side and leaning her head on her bosom. 

“Yes: Dairene, maddened by her love for thee, and her 
pagan zeal, will not rest until thou art immolated to her 
stern deities. Semo and the Druids will search the very 
depths of the sea, that they may sacrifice thee to their 
vengeance. There is no time to be lost. I have a sister 
at Innistore, who is the tiring-woman of the noble lady of 
the castle : she will receive thee as an assistant in the 
nursery in the place of the slave Panthea, who is crippled 
and helpless,” said Lena. 

“ Innistore I I am known at Innistore, by some of its 
inmates, who have been accustomed to see me since I 
was a child, from time to time,” said Mona, looking up 
with surprise. 

“ For all that I am prepared, gentle lady,” said Lena, 
opening a bundle. “ They will not know thee in the dis- 
guise I have prepared. Dairene herself would pass thee 
by unnoticed. So, let me fold thy long hair beneath this 
cap, let me sponge thy face with this dye, — thy neck, 
hands, and arms. Now put on this peasant attire. There! 
thou art safe.” 

“A servant!” murmured Mona, — “a servant! Is this 
glorifying God ? Is this ignoble flight worthy of a Chris- 
tian?” 

“ Dear lady, in holy obedience we imitate and glorify 
Jesus Christ, who became a servant, an outcast, and a 
reproach for our salvation,” said Lena, quickly. 


268 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


‘‘Yes: to become a servant for Christ is very sweet, 
Lena. To be subject to others, and feel no will of my 
own, is very sweet, because in place of my own will the 
adorable will of the Most High God will reign, filling 
me with newer and brighter life, until my soul is lost in 
heavenly communings which are types of eternal rest. 
I see it all, and feel it, now. Servitude or death, servi- 
tude or death, be mine, dear Lord, according to Thy good 
pleasure. Let us go now, that we may reach Innistore 
before day-dawn. 

“ His hand is leading thee, and His right band is about 
theel’^ said Lena, throwing a large gray mantle like her 
own over Mona’s head and shoulders. Then they stepped 
out of the cavern, and wound their way cautiously down 
the steep and narrow path until they reached the level 
shore, when they walked on rapidly and in silence. 

“ I must go in here an instant,” said Lena, pausing 
near her cabin, which lay in their way. “ I have eggs 
and woolen hose to carry to Innistore, which I shall sell, 
to buy bread for my little ones ; and I wish to let those 
within know our movements.” 

In a little while she came out, with two light willow 
baskets on her arms. The one containing eggs she gave 
to Mona, the other she carried herself. 

“We will go on now,” she said, cheeringly. “They 
are all well within. My husband and son would have 
risen to go with us ; but I usually go alone, and I feared 
it might excite surprise to see me thus attended.” 

The moon was now shining in unclouded glory over 
their way, while the beacon-light at Innistore guided 
them on. It was a rough and rugged path : sometimes 
it led them over sharp, broken rocks, and sometimes 
through thickets of thorn-bushes and holly. The deli- 
cate vestal, nurtured like a song-bird, — whose life had 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


269 


been passed amid flowers and music and song, — felt foot- 
sore and weary, wandering at midnight in search of hu- 
miliations and bondage. Humiliations and bondage! 
Was this all that the new faith had brought her ? No, not 
all. For that part of which the body is the prison — that 
sentient and keen life, so deathless, of which the body is 
only the earth-garb — was filled with a peace so tranquil, 
a courage so high, a brightness of hope so heavenly, a 
faith so strong, that it counted all things as loss for the 
cross of Christ, and was borne up, as on eaglets pinions, 
beyond the dull wailing of afflicted nature, so near the 
confines of heaven that the bleeding feet were not thought 
of, the weary limbs asked no repose, bondage was forgot- 
ten, and death itself was lost in the sweet fullness of hope. 

“ Lady, we are at the portals of Innistore: throw back 
thy veil a little way,’’ said Lena, knocking at the wicket. 

1 am sorry to disturb thee, Dathy, at so early an hour,” 
said Lena, when the porter opened it ; but I have come 
'on a business-errand to my sister, and also to bring a 
small present to thyself.” 

‘‘ Good Lena, thou art ever welcome. Wait until I take 
down the bars. Thou must not be kept, standing after so 
long a trudge,” said Dathy, who disappeared; and, after 
a rattling of chains and the lumbering sounds of displaced 
bars, one side of the portal, iron-ribbed and grim, was 
thrown open, and the two women entered the lodge, 
where there was no want of substantial comfort. 

Say, good Lena, is this thy daughter ? If she is, she 
looks more like an Egyptian than thou dost.” 

“No, Dathy: she is not my child, except by adoption. 
She is a poor orphan who has been confided to my care. 
Sit here, mavourneen, and rest a moment while I get out 
the hose which I knit for my friend Dathy — may they fit 
thee as well as the good wishes that made them I” said 
23 * 


2t0 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


Lena, turning out the contents of her basket, to direct the 
man’s attention from Mona. '‘Aha ! there they are, — the 
brightest scarlet and purest white in Munster. Our mon- 
arch himself does not wear a finer or softer fleece.” 

“ My good and excellent Lena!” cried Dathy, in an ec- 
stasy of delight, “who of the good people set thee on 
this ? The very thing I wanted ! Now, Dathy ! do cho- 
roide gun roinn ! in such hose thou wilt be invincible I 
We’ll see if that jilting hussy Maia will turn up her pert 
nose at the wearer of scarlet and white. A thousand 
thanks, Lena! Here are wine and wheaten bread for 
thyself and daughter.” 

“I thank thee,” said Lena, accepting the offered re- 
freshment. “ I have brought this young maiden to my 
sister, who wants an assistant in the nursery. I know 
that she is faithful and even-tempered, and thought none 
would better suit the place. But I must hurry back, to 
be in time to pack up our produce for the fair,” said Lena, 
in her quiet way. 

“ True,” said Dathy, surveying his large, well-turned 
limbs and the brilliant hose with equal complacency : 
“ she sent word down last night that she expected thee. 
Even-tempered didst thou say is the Colleen dliu"^ It is 
well for her. I’d rather be pitched naked into a thorn- 
bush than have to serve under Aileen, — saving thy pres- 
ence, Lena. I expect she’s in a glorious snarl now ! 
Old Panthea’s been crippled these three weeks ; and, in 
addition to the uproar caused by that, — for Aileen, never 
sick herself, thinks it is treason for any one to complain, 
however ill they may be, — we were all set wild last night 
by the arrival of a troop of guests, who brought such 
wonderful tidings from Tara that I have not slept a wink 
since letting them in. Hast heard aught extraordinary, 
good Lena ?” 


MO.VA TUB VESTAL. 


2n 


Nothing,’^ replied Lena. 

“Well, I might as well be the first to tell thee; for it 
has brought great sorrow to Innistore, and a black woe 
to the house of Munster ! Thou hast doubtless heard of 
certain wretches called Christians ? Yes. Well, they 
are enchanters. I hear they can turn a lamb to a wolf, 
or a cuckoo to an eagle, by a look of their eye ; and it is 
said there are many of them in these parts. Anyhow, 
one of them, named Patricius, was at Tara ; and they 
say he stood on a hillock at Firta-Fir-Tiec^ on the banks 
of the Boyne, the day the Baal-fire was kindled on the 
plains of Magh-Breagb, three miles off, and put it out by 
shutting his eyes and blowing his breath toward it. Only 
think ! Then the people fled in confusion, pursued by a 
dragon, which devoured men, women, and children in their 
flight. The next day the infidel appeared before the Parlia- 
ment of Tara, and under the very nose of the Druids en- 
chanted the monarch Laogare, the Arch-Poet Dubtach, 
two Druids, a young noble from Gaul, and, worst of all, 
the pride of Munster, our bard, our prince, the beautiful 
and noble Abaris.’’ Here Dathy wiped off a genuine tear, 
but continued: — “After which he chained them all, and 
changed them into beasts and birds, and carried them off 
in iron cages to a bleak island, called Lough Derg, where 
he has locked them up in a cavern of fire.” * 

“'And they all became Christians asked Lena, 
scarcely able to keep down the exultation of her soul, — 
“all?” 

“ Every one. And they say that the Arch-Druid Semo 
has never spoken a word since, — that the curse of Patri- 
cius is upon him. Didst thou e\:er hear anything so ab- 

DaAliy no doubt alluded to the cave of Lough Depg, hnown as 
Patrick’s Purgatory, where the apostle used to retire to pray and do 
penance. 


272 


MONA THE VESTAL, 


surd as their belief? They declare that the King of the 
Jeivs — the Jews are a foreign and detestable race — is 
God, and He and they are trying to subvert our free 
and glorious land to his dominions! That is their reli- 
gion. That is the reason they are threatening our free 
institutions with disaster and ruin.” 

It is terrible, if true,” said Lena, with a quiet smile. 

But, good Dathy, send some one with us now to the 
castle : the people are stirring, and it is past sunrise. I 
have to hasten back.” 

Lena was anxious to get back, to dispatch a messenger 
to the saintly Tinian with the news she had heard, that 
he might be on his guard, and use more than usual cau- 
tion in coming to and fro. 

“True. I had forgotten. Come hither, Malchy,” he 
cried to a man-at-arms who was washing his face at the 
court fountain. “ Sit here, my friend, until I go with 
this dame and her daughter to the castle. Here is wine ; 
there hangs a rasher. Make thyself at home : when I 
return, we will breakfast together.” 

The man-at-arms, nothing loath to the enjoyment of an 
easy chair and good fare, came with a broad grin on his 
coarse features in obedience to the summons, and, as lie 
passed Mona, gave her a tap with his great hirsute hand 
on her cheek. Almost fainting with terror, she clung to 
Lena, nor lifted her veil again until they were seated in 
the apartment that served as a play-room for the noble 
children of Innistore, and over which Lena’s sister, an 
ill-favored and ill-tempered person, presided, it being one 
of the nursery suite. 

“Is she good-tempered ? is she active ? is she willing ? 
can she sweep ? can she sew ? can she sing ? can she 
hold a child ? can she feed a baby ? can she make gTuel ? 
can she scrub ?” Mona heard her asking, with such 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


273 


sharp volubility that it sounded like the patter of hail- 
stones on a shield. Speak up, and tell us what thou 
canst do.’^ 

“ 1 know but little, said Mona, with humble courage ; 
but I will be obedient, and endeavor to perform well 
whatever tasks are assigned me.” 

Ha 1 thou hast a voice like the cuckoo, and thy 
speech shows gentle breeding ; but, mind, there are no 
little brownies here to wait on my lady,” said the virago. 
“ But I’ll try thee ; and I do think, if thy great wild eyes 
and yellow skin don’t scare the baby into fits, we may 
do something with thee. So, Lena, thou canst leave her. 
I have my hands so full since that old wretch Panthea 
took to bed, that I get out of my senses a dozen times a 
day. I am tolerably patient though, and will try to 
teach the girl something. But mind, young miss, no 
flaunting with the grooms and soldiers, and, above all, 
no words when I scold.” 

Thou wilt find Coreen modest, sister. I only beg 
thou wilt let her have her sup up here, that she may not 
have to be among the men in the servants’ hall. And 
another thing. Sometimes I shall come for her, to spend 
a night at home. Promise me that she shall go,” said 
Lena, with tingling cheeks and a glance at Mona, who was 
standing near her, with folded hands and downcast eyes. 

The Banshees fly off with ye, for putting such notions 
into the girl’s head — but, by our mother’s milk, I suppose 
I must say yes, for thy sake, Lena, — that is, if thou dost 
not come for her too often to spend a night, and if she 
gets back by sunrise. As to her taking her sup here, she’s 
welcome, as I like to go down sometimes myself. We’re 
in a stew at Innistore, now I can tell thee ; what with 
the witchcraft of the Christians, and the apostasy of the 
bard Abaris, the very winds blow us sorrow. That old 


274 


MONA THE VESTAL, 


Roman slave, Panthea, pretends to be lame ; my lady 
storms and threatens ; the child's sick. Here — whaPs 
thy name?^’ 

‘‘ Coreen,’^ said Lena. 

'‘Here, Coreen, lay off thy veil, and fly round and clear 
this room ; the children are shrieking,” cried the ter- 
magant, rushing into another room. 

“ Be patient; have good courage, my child,” Avhispered 
Lena, when they were alone. “ When the holy Finian 
returns, I will come for thee.” 

She kissed her hand, and Mona felt a tear drop on it. 
Lena went away; and Mona felt a chill and shudder pass 
over her. 

“This is not death; there seems nothing great or 
heroic in it, — nothing worthy of offering to the Most 
High God,” thought Mona. “ But it is suffering; yes, it 
is suffering; and what matters it, sweet Lord, how we 
suffer, if we suffer for and with Thee? Here will I think 
of Thee in thy Passion, here will I learn the science of 
meekness and humility.” 

Her instinctive neatness and innate love of order gave 
success to her task, and when the virago Aileen came to 
inspect the room she did not beat her. 

And now, in truth, commenced her soul’s warfare. 
She was the servant of servants ; but she thought of the 
Crucified, and was silent. She was pursued from morn- 
ing until night by petty tyrannies, which would have 
maddened her had she not been a Christian; she was 
struck and buffeted by ill-governed children, jeered and 
scoffed at by underlings, exposed to fatigues and labor 
beyond her strength, without a kind word or a soft look 
to sweeten her toils; and sometimes — yes,. sometimes she 
felt weak and wavering, and numbed by the torture, until 
she remembered Him on whose mangled shoulders the 
heavy Cross was laid. She was human; she felt now 


3I0NA THE VESTAL. 


275 


her weakness, and would have sunk into a very abyss of 
despair, had not the thought of the great ransom that 
was paid for her on Calvary given, her strength, hope, 
and courage. 

And yet she was indispensable. Her sweet songs 
lulled the noisy children, and her winning voice lured 
them away from the indulgence of dangerous sports. 
She watched them while they slept, and met them with 
smiles when they awoke. Her cunning handiwork and 
skill in embroidery made her of priceless value to Aileen, 
who could now steal more rest. None asked a favor 
of her in vain, yet none returned to thank her or offered 
their assistance or good offices. She had but one friend 
among them all ; and that was the poor slave Panthea. 
When she could be spared, she hied up to the little closet 
under the eaves, with warm broth or healing embroca- 
tions, rubbed the crippled, unsightly limbs, bathed her 
feet, and anointed them with unctuous oils, which Dairene 
had taught her how to prepare ; and while the forlorn 
slave, grateful and relieved, leaned back on her pillow of 
straw, Mona told her, in low, sweet tones, of God, until 
it began to grow brighter in that darkened soul — until, 
freed from the fetters of its ignorance, at last it sighed 
after immortality through the Cross of Christ. 

One evening Lena came for her, and together they 
sped away once more to the cavern on the shore. Once 
more Mona knelt in sacramental penance at the good 
Finian’s feet, and once more did she receive, with a joy 
that angels can never know, the Lord in his sacred hu- 
manity and perfect Divinity, in her earthly tabernacle. 
And well was it for her that, in the depths of her hu- 
mility, she had left no venial stains to cloud the luster of 
her soul, well for her that the heavenly feast so inebriated 
her with joy that earth’s bitter trials were all unfelt, — 
well for her; for it was her YiaticumI 


CHAPTEH XL 


PANTHEA THE SLAVE. 

In a lofty turret-chamber, which was euriched by all 
that was rare and luxurious, near an open casement, which 
commanded an extensive and magnificent prospect, sat the 
proud Lady of Innistore. A quantity of splendid silk 
lay across her knees, and swept the floor on either side, 
in rich folds. It was a banneret, which she was em- 
broidering with golden threads and pearls, in heraldic 
devices and quaint patterns. Her face was a type of 
fearlessness and truth. There was that in her full, flash- 
ing eyes which would repel with scorn a mean or op- 
pressive act, yet which would imperatively demand sub- 
mission and respect to her position and state. The nostrils 
of her straight and beautiful nose were thin, and dilated 
with every breath ; while her full lips, curved to the most 
perfect line of beauty, wore a look of more hauteur than 
tenderness. Her raven hair was confined under a net- 
work of pearls, which was fringed with a glistening border 
of pear-pearls, that drooped over her broad white fore- 
head and blue-veined temples like snow-flakes on a lotus- 
leaf. A robe of lilac-colored silk, with flowing sleeves 
turned up with ermine and a girdle of twisted pearls, 
completed her attire. 

The wind swept up from the sea in sweet and murmur- 
ing cadences, ever and anon touching the strings of a harp 
which stood uncovered near the casement, and yielded 
( 276 ) 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


277 


wild and music-breathing strains to its spirit-like finger- 
ings. The lady lifted her eyes from her broidery, and 
gazed out long and earnestly on the noble and sunlit 
view; then, with an impatient look and a quick sigh, she 
threw aside the banneret, and tossed the threads of gold 
and strings of pearls in a glittering heap down with it. 

“Bright, splendid, unclouded,’^ she exclaimed, “ are 
yonder scenes; but, viewed through the medium of a 
vexed and troubled heart, they are wanting in glory. 
Why is it that there is ever a longing — a void — in the 
soul ? Why is it that we are never filled with the joys 
around us ? Why cannot we, like the birds of the air or 
the flowers of the meadow, who heed neither hunter’s 
arrow nor midnight storm, after both are sped, revel and 
grow wild in the bliss of sunshine and flowers ? Why 
doth sorrow, like a taskmaster, scourge us, as if we were 
slaves, away from all gladness ? Why does disappoint- 
ment embitter the very fountains of life ? Is it because 
we are human, and that there is a something which we 
know not of, that would fill all the desires of an immortal 
nature ? * Is it because there is a balm, down-flowing to 
the earth, which our instincts long for, yet cannot find ? 
O Nerf Naom, lead thy child! O Nerf Naom, teach 
me true wisdom !” 

An attendant entered, — one of the esquires of the ante- 
room, — and ushered in Count Ulric of Heidelberg, who, 
bowing with courtly reverence, lifted the long white 
fingers of the lady to his lips. 

“ Be seated. Count Ulric,” she said, disengaging her 
hand with a queenly air ; for she had heard somewhat of 
his treachery toward his friend at Tara. “ Methought 
thou hadst gone to the schools at Lough-Tore.” 

“ No, my Lady Bernice. Some unexpected deliberations 
detain the Arch-Druid at yonder temple ; and, weary of 

24 


278 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


its monotony, to avoid hanging myself, I galloped over 
to Innistore, in hopes to find thy lord in a humor for 
hawking this fine day; but they tell me that he has gone 
a journey.” 

‘‘Yes; he has gone to seek an interview with our 
brother Abaris, who so unwarily fell into the magic nets 
of Patricius,” she replied, while a red spot glowed on her 
forehead. 

“ Those events have indeed become portentous, in 
which the monarch, the teachers of the schools, and the 
bravest chiefs take the lead,” said Count Ulric, with a 
sneer, creed is, to laugh at all doctrines and let 

them dance round their circle of folly unmolested, unless 
they interfere with me is some peculiar way. But what 
sayest thou, noble lady, to these strange doings ?” 

“ Say, sir count? What can a weak woman say, when 
men forget their fidelity to all faith and honor ? Had I 
been there, Patricius would have found one, at least, to 
defy and scorn his falsehoods,” she said, while such a 
fierce light shot from her eyes that Ulric involuntarily 
lowered his, and thought it safer to change the subject. 

“Hast thou heard the strange news from the temple?” 
he asked. 

“No, sir count, I have heard nothing, since they re- 
turned from Tara. Methinks that were enough to last 
one a lifetime,” she said, with a quiet but concentrated 
air of wrath. 

“Not heard it yet, my Lady Bernice? Why, there has 
been the wildest excitement there I ever witnessed. It 
was caused by an event of the most unexpected and start- 
ling character. At first I felt, as in duty bound, highly 
wrought up ; but, as success now seems uncertain, all zest 
is gone, and, as I told thee, noble lady, I galloped hither 
to seek diversion.” 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


2^9 


He did not understand the quivering of those thin 
nostrils and the gathering flush on those oval cheeks ; he 
did not know that her lips had opened to call him “Eool,^’ 
but sat all unconscious, until she burst out with, “On 
my honor as the wife of a noble prince, thou hast not been 
an inmate of the temple so long without learning some- 
thing. Thy words are as mysterious as the revelations 
of an oracle.’’ 

“I will speak more plainly, lady,” he said, bowing. 
“ Didst thou ever hear of Mona the vestal ?” 

“Mona, the Rose of the Temple? — She who was 
drowned in the sea ?” 

“ The same. She was not drowned, as was supposed. 
Dairene, one of the older vestals, had seen and talked 
with her. She Jied away from the temple, and sought 
refuge with some accursed Christians, who have con- 
verted her to their belief. Semo declares that the most 
awful penalties, the most horrid tortures, shall burn and 
rack her, when she is delivered into his hands. But no 
trace has been discovered as yet.” 

“ Mona ! Mona, the innocent and beautiful ! Can it be 
so ?” murmurred the lady. 

“ The Count Clotaire of Bretagne once saw Mona un- 
veiled, and formed a wild and passionate love for her. 
He has also become a Christian, and it is expected that 
when one is found the other will not be far off. She, of 
course, will have to die ; he will be sent back in disgrace 
to his father’s court at Bretagne,” said Count Ulric, 
twirling his small jeweled dagger around his fingers. 

“This crowns their triumphs. Druids, mgnarchs, 
bards, chiefs, and now a vestal of Nerp Naom ! Let the 
honor of the temple be vindicated ! Let her perish, vrere 
she ten times more lovely, were she ten times more 
gentle and sweet-voiced ! — let her perish, a warning and 


280 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


spectacle to those who, like her, may be deluded !” ex- 
claimed the Lady Bernice, with a dark flashing of the eye. 

There was a quick sound of footsteps in the anteroom, 
a rustling of robes, and quick panting breath ; then the 
drapery that covered the entrance was dashed aside, and 
Mona ran forward and knelt at the lady^s feet, closely 
followed by Aileen, in such a tempest of fury that every 
limb quivered, and she could not speak. 

What means this intrusion ? Aileen, how darest 
thou come thus into my presence ? and who is this dark 
stranger?’’ 

Gracious lady, she is but a servant, — one whom I 
employed a few weeks ago. It is she who has led me 
hither, — she who, because I wished to chastise Panthea, 
the slave, for laziness, almost tore my eyes out. And 
when she saw that I would do it, she flew off, like a mad 
cat, to appeal to thee,” exclaimed Aileen, stuttering and 
stammering. 

“ She did right, for aught I know, Aileen. But be 
silent. You have forced this quarrel into my presence, 
and I shall adjust it to suit myself. What wouldst thou, 
dark stranger ?” said the Lady Bernice to Mona, who 
still knelt, with folded hands and downcast eyes, at her 
feet. 

Pardon me, lady, if I have presumed too far for one 
in my humble condition ; but when Aileen would have 
stripped Panthea and laid the knotted scourge on the 
shoulders of one so ill and crippled as she is, I only be- 
sought her to spare Panthea and lay the stripes on me,” 
said Mona, in low, trembling tones. ^‘But she would 
not relent. Then I dared to appeal to thee, — not against 
Aileen, but to beseech thee, noble lady, to order that I 
may be scourged instead of Panthea.” 

'‘Is Panthea of thy kith and kin?” inquired the Lady 


3WNA THE VESTAL. 


281 


of Innistore, while a flood of strange and turbulent emo- 
tions swept through her mind. 

No, lady, she is a foreigner, — I am a native of Erin; 
but, oh, lady, her age, her sufferings, the slow approach 
of death to one so unfriended, has made her my sister, — 
my mother. I only beg for the stripes, that Panthea may 
be spared.’^ 

‘‘ So let it be,’^ said the lady, after a pause of several 
minutes, during which she fixed her keen, flashing eyes 
on Mona’s face, as if through its lineaments she would 
read the secrets of her inmost soul. ^‘Aileen, — dost thou 
hear me ? — spare Panthea. Let the scourge fall on the 
shoulders that are willing to bear it ; and, remember, 
I shall require from thee a strict account of the old 
slave, whom I ever found faithful and true to my in- 
terests.” 

Thanks, lady, — thanks !” whispered Mona, while her 
face grew radiant with the light within. 

“Leave me,” said the lady, more gently. “ This is so 
noble and heroic, sir count, that, although my heart 
pleaded loudly for that dark and beautiful maiden, I 
could not deprive her of the glory of it.” 

“And yet,” said Count Ulric, with a sneer, “I make 
no doubt, most noble lady, that thou hast frustrated some 
deep design. She counted largely on thy generosity, and 
would have sacrificed her heroism to her safety.” 

“ Thou art a disbeliever, then, in exalted heroism of 
mind, — in the truth of heroic generosity ! I pity thee. 
Count of Heidelberg,” said the lady, with a smile of 
scorn. 

“I have surely seen that face before,” he replied, half 
musingly; for he deemed it wiser in him to avoid a dis- 
cussion on the attributes of exalted natures. “ It is like 
a half-forgotten dream. Those wild, beautiful eyes ! that 
24 * 


282 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


voice ! Lady, if it were not for the Egyptian hue of that 
skin, I should say she was Mona the vestal.” 

“ Thou hast an imagination which certainly suggests 
strange conjectures. Mona the vestal ! I would warn 
thee, however, not to let thy wild suspicions subject the 
maiden to insult and exposure, — perhaps danger from the 
infuriate Druids. She is under the protection of the Lord 
of Innistore, who knows how to avenge an injury offered 
to the meanest of his vassals,” exclaimed the Lady Ber- 
nice, while a red spot glowed on her cheeks, and her 
dilated nostrils and flashing eyes gave her visitor silent 
but eloquent warning to pursue the subject no further. 
So, making his adieus, he snatched up his plumed cap, 
and, with a lowly reverence, in which there was some- 
thing of mockery, withdrew. 

^‘My vengeance,” he muttered, as he ran down the 
marble stairway, — “my vengeance is at hand. Sir Count 
of Bretagne. Thou didst rob me of a royal bride at 
Tara : I will in turn torture thee. Before day-dawn to- 
morrow thy vestal-love shall be in the hands of the 
Druids, — to suffer such pangs as shall tear thy heart 
asunder to hear of.” 

The imperious dame was once more alone. But a 
darker shadow rested on her queenly brow. Through 
her soul strange tumults were surging. Every nobler 
impulse of her nature, every generous chord of her 
woman’s heart, paid homage to the heroic courage, the 
divine charity, of that delicate and fragile maiden who 
had forced her way into her presence to implore a boon I 
And such a boon ! To be scourged I And for whom ? 
For one who might reward her for the sacrifice ? For 
one to whom she owed fealty and obedience ? Was it 
for the mother from whose breast she drank the stream 
of life ? It was for none of these, but for a poor, de- 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


283 


spised slave, — a deformed and disgusting object, so very 
abject in her lowness that the meanest of her servants 
felt themselves degraded by handing her a cup of water ! 
There was a motive under it all, which she, the noble and 
well-learned lady, could not comprehend. It could not be 
human affection. The mystery, whatever it was, might 
be good or bad. It should be tested. If bad, then the 
maiden deserved the scourge ; if good, her sufferings 
should be amply rewarded by ease and affluence, to 
which she would elevate her ; for then indeed — thought 
the Lady of Innistore — '‘shall I have found a being 
worthy of the love of a nature like mine.” 

Then she touched a small gold hand-bell, and two fair 
young maidens, her attendants, instantly came in from 
the anteroom, where they had been embroidering. 

“Tell my esquire to saddle my hunting barb, and my 
falconer to bring out the hawks ; then don thy riding- 
gear, to attend me in an hour’s sport.” 

In a little while the gay cavalcade was coursing over 
the plains beyond Innistore. The fragrance of shamrocks 
and new hay, with the scents of the wild wood, floated 
on the calm air, through which the sun poured his glory 
like showers of gold ov^er the earth and sea. A gray 
heron and white dove soon appeared, floating high up, — 
soaring and bathing in the sunshine, as if their lives 
were lost in the quiet rapture of the upper air. But the 
hawks, fierce and keen, freed from jess and hood, espied 
their quarry, and sped like arrows up, far above them, 
then with one fell swoop rushed down, and struck their 
strong claws and iron beaks, with unerring and fatal aim, 
into some vital part of their terror-stricken victims. It 
was a brave sight ; and the vassals of Innistore, paus- 
ing in their labors and dashing the moisture from their 
toil-stained brows, wondered if their proud and beau- 


284 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


tifal lady, who swept so brightly past on her coal-black 
horse, had ever heard of sorrow or sadness. But they 
little knew of the shadows that were coming and going 
like clouds or phantoms over that troubled heart : they 
saw only the light of the large black eyes, the flush on 
the beauteous cheeks, the perfect and noble form, the 
flashing jewels and waving plumes; and what wonder is 
it that they thought she was a stranger to the ills of 
human flesh ? As the white dove fell fluttering and 
bleeding on her bosom, she thought of the dark maiden, 
the slave, and the scourge. It sickened her : and, throw- 
ing olf the bird, and striking back her ha-wk, which was 
whirling and circling around her for the caress which he 
always received after he had struck down his quarry, she 
gave the signal to return. 

That night, when everything was silent at Innistore, 
when the very watch-dogs had crept into their kennels 
for a moment’s sleep, the Lady Bernice, pale and sleep- 
less, arose from her couch, and, wrapping a dark woolen 
mantle around her, sought with noiseless and swift steps 
the apartments of her children. By the dim light of a 
shaded taper, she saw Aileen sleeping on pillows of 
snowy linen, stretched out, like a queen, on a soft and 
luxurious couch, over which hung a drapery of white and 
red striped linen. The hard features, the sharp, pert 
nose, the harsh mouth, were at rest; but her arms were 
out on the coverlet, and looked as if they were ready to 
recommence their unwearied, restless, and tyrannical rou- 
tine at any moment. The children slumbered near her. 
The soft breath of innocence, the sweet flush of purity, 
made their sleep beautiful. The mother’s heart was 
stirred by the sight to unwonted and sweet impulses, and, 
bending over, she dropped a kiss on their soft, roseate 
cheeks, then turned to find the one she sought. But she 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


285 


was not there. There was a small, low couch, coarsely 
furnished, in a corner ; but it was unoccupied. Thinking 
she might find the dark-eyed maiden, who had thus 
strangely stirred up the depths of her soul, in another 
apartment, she passed noislessly through the open door 
into the large play-room beyond. But all was dark and 
silent there, except just where the moonlight stole through 
the windows and lay in broken ripples on the floor. It 
was just light enough to see that there was no one sleep- 
ing there. 

For what am I seeking in the midnight ? For 
whom she asked, suddenly pausing in the midst of the 
deserted room. Just then a moan, and the murmur of 
voices, arrested her attention, and, starting around, she 
saw in a distant recess a strong clear light shining through 
a crevice. She ran toward it. It was a door half open, 
through which she perceived a steep, narrow stairway 
leading up under the roof From above the light gleamed 
down, and the moans and the murmuring descended with 
it. With a light, swift step she ran up, and found herself 
on the threshold of a small, cell-like room, and the wit- 
ness of a sight which made the pulses of her proud heart 
stand still. On a heap of straw lay the slave Panthea, 
gasping, suffering, and weeping. Beside her knelt Mona, 
her dark hair flowing loosely around her, waving down 
to the very floor, except where, in moving her arm, it 
had parted over her right shoulder, leaving it uncovered. 
It was quite bare ; and where it was not disfigured by 
red swollen welts and long purple stripes, it was as fair 
as drifted snow. 

Oh, dark-eyed one, this is indeed a new doctrine. 
Forgive! Forgive and bless such a one as Aileen, who 
deserves bitter curses. Oh I oh I I fear if it depends on 
that, I shall never be saved, cried Panthea, wringing 
her hands. 


286 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


Consider, my Pantbea, the love of Jesus Christ, who, 
under the ban of ignominy, treated like a slave, scorned 
as a felon, crucified like a murderer, yet lifted His voice 
to His Father — God — and besought Him to forgive those 
who persecuted Him with cruel torments unto death. 
We must be like Jesus Christ,^^ said Mona, gently. 

Dost thou forgive Aileen?’^ asked Panthea. 

<< Forgive Aileen, that she has caused me to do a little 
for Jesus Christ, who, without knowing it, led me along 
the sorrowful way with Him, and bound me to the pillar, 
where, with Him, I suffered stripes? Oh, Panthea; how 
can I thank her enough for it ? When this life shall 
drop its clay, like a garment, into the dust, — when death 
shall lead the liberated spirit into the freedom and bright- 
ness of the children of God, — we will wonder how so 
brief and cowardly a warfare as ours has obtained for us 
such an exceeding great reward.’^ 

“ Thou speakest of death as of something sweet and 
lovely. Wouldst thou be willing, child, to suffer death 
asked Panthea, with awe. 

'‘What is Death? It is a transition. We only fall 
asleep, our suffering body wearied with griefs which 
have made our life a burden ; we fall asleep cheered by 
the sweet hope of Jesus Christ, and when we awake — 
oh, Panthea, what glorious awakening into the dawn of 
a day which never ends, — in a land where no clouds, or 
dimness, or tears ever come, and, best of all, where hope 
is ripened into fruition, where there are no more fears, or 
despondencies, or uncertainty concerning our immortality, 
because it is won, — it is eternal, — God is there. The 
splendor of the Divine Trinity, the glory of the Virgin 
Mother, the prophets, the martyrs, with all the hosts of 
God, make it heaven. Death! sweet Death exclaimed 
Mona, clasping her hands. 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


28 T 


The Virgin Mother I Oh, she was human I She 
bore a threefold sorrow in her tender soul I I love her, 
Coreen ; she will know how a poor wretch like me is un- 
able to scale the steep way of heaven without great help. 
Yes, she will help me I She will ask her Divine Son to 
behold me, a poor, sorrowful woman, through her own 
anguish on Calvary,’^ said Panthea, smiling and calm and 
hopeful. 

She is our mother, Panthea, — our true and loving 
mother! Her Divine Son refuses her naught. Their 
love is a mystery, which is inseparable one from the 
other; the love of Jesus and Mary is as much incarnate 
now as it was when it was announced to her at Nazareth 
that the ‘Word would become flesh, and dwell within 
her.’ She will aid thee, my Panthea; she will lead thee; 
she will bear thee along tenderly ; for this loving mother 
is so tenacious of the glory of her Divine Son that she 
cannot endure the thought that His sufferings should be- 
come useless to the vilest sinner. Hence she is the 
friend and advocate of poor sinners,” replied Mona, while 
the light of her eyes grew brighter, and the glow on her 
cheek heightened. 

“ But these wounds, — these stripes !” said Panthea, 
laying her talon-like fingers on the bruised and inflamed 
flesh of Mona. 

“Forbear, and forgive me, Panthea, that I unwittingly 
have exposed them to thee. What are they? Nothing 
to mourn over,” said Mona, quickly covering her shoulder. 

The Lady of Innistore had listened to every word. 
Her soul was filled with wonder and awe. Could it be 
true ? Yet, if false, who would endure sufferings and 
death for it? There was something so grand, so sublime, 
even in the smallest thing she had heard, that she felt 
her soul swelling and dilating within her to know more. 


288 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


These new doctrines of a resurrection from the dead, and 
of eternal life, were ecstatic. She knew that they were 
Christians. In the excitement of the moment, her limbs 
trembled and almost refused to support her ; and, fearing 
that she might fall, she descended with faltering footsteps 
the narrow stairway, and crept back to her own splendid 
apartments. 

The next morning, Mona was summo-ned to her pres- 
ence. The lady was alone, in a shaded and darkened 
room. Her black hair, unbound by net or cincture, fell 
like a veil around her. No pearls drooped over her pale 
cheeks to-day, no jewels glistened on her neck or arms, 
but, with a sad look tempering the haughty majesty of 
her brow, she reclined in an indolent posture on a couch. 

I am here, lady, at thy command,’’ said Mona, who 
entered so softly that she did not lift her eyes. 

.^^Ha! yes! I have summoned thee to ray presence to 
question thee,’^ said the lady, turning her penetrating 
glance, full of haughty will on the meek face of Mona. 

^^Thou hast a right, noble lady, to question me accord- 
ing to thy will.’^ 

Tell me truly, dark and beautiful maiden, why thou 
didst offer thyself to be scourged for a poor deformed 
wretch like the slave Panthea, whose death would have 
been a release to herself and others. Some powerful 
motive must have ruled thee !’’ 

Noble lady, Panthea is old and crippled. I am young 
and strong 

^‘Thou art deceiving me I Aileen is strong; I am 
strong ; there are others still stronger than we : why did 
not we — why did not they — suffer for Panthea ? Thou 
hadst no human motive. No mortal reason can explain 
thy actions,’’ said the lady, rising on her elbow, that she 
might better see the face of her she was questioning. 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


289 


pitied her, she was so friendless and desolate,” said 
Mona, gently and humbly; “nor do I esteem it much 
that I have done for her.” 

“ Thou art a Christian said the lady, sternly. 

“ I AM,” replied Mona, with a flush of joy over her 
countenance. 

“ Thou art Mona !” 

“I was Mona,” she said, with a shudder. 

“ Thou hast borne scourging right bravely, O faithless 
vestal : how wilt thou bear death ?” 

“Death! For Christ!” she said, clasping her hands 
together on her bosom. “ Oh, lady, can it be that I — I, 
a poor, weak maiden — will be found worthy of suffering 
death for Christ ?” 

There was a wild perturbation in the lady’s soul. Here, 
under her roof, in her very presence, — noble, heroic be- 
yond aught she had ever dreamed of, suffering scourges 
and glorying in death, — a Christian stood before her! 

“ And how wilt thou be rewarded by this Christ, after 
death ?” she asked, in a low, choking voice. 

“ With immortality, O lady ; with new and eternal 
life ; with the glorious vision of God, which filleth those 
who are ransomed with exhaustless joy. Oh, Death ! 
strong portal of Eternal rest! Oh, sweet Death!” ex- 
claimed Mona, as if forgetful of the lady’s presence. 

“And how dost thou know this?” asked the Lady 
Bernice, in the same low tone. 

“ The great and infinite God — our Father — has himself 
revealed it, through Plis Divine Son. Oh, lady, believe ! 
Turn thy soul aw«ay from the vain worship of false deities 
to the true and living God,” exclaimed Mona, throwing 
herself at her feet. 

“Maiden, thou hast proved thy faith by a heroism 
worthy of a better cause. I admit that there is some- 


290 


MONA THE VESTAL, 


thing in it which is sublime and passes mj comprehen- 
sion. At some future time, as a curious study, I will in- 
vestigate its philosophy. But thou art a Christian. One 
saw thee to-day, whose sharp eyes recognized thee under 
thy disguise. He is tarrying at the temple. Perchance 
thou dost deserve death for thine apostasy, and it maybe 
difficult to protect thee, but I — yes, I will do my utmost to 
save thee, Mona. Remain thou here. I will speak with 
Aileen,’^ said the lady, rising from her pillows and twist- 
ing her long tresses around a jeweled comb, which con- 
fined them to the back of her head. 

Aileen was luxuriating in one of her usual fermenta- 
tions. Her shrill voice rung out in commands and 
counter-orders, in threats and shrieks, varied by the sharp 
sound of a strap over the shoulders of some luckless do- 
mestic who crossed her path, or the crash of a tin flagon 
or a broom, which, falling short of its aim or going be- 
yond the head at which it was thrown, fell clattering 
against the wall or lumbering along the floor. But the 
entrance of Lady Bernice calmed the storm in a moment. 
She was an unexpected and rare visitor in those regions 
where her foster- mother had heretofore reigned supreme. 
Aileen stood aghast. She felt that her coming portended 
nothing good for her. fl'he lady’s stern brow and com- 
pressed lips convinced her that her star was no longer 
in the ascendant. 

‘‘My gracious lady,” said the subdued virago, “ take 
this chair. If I had known thou were coming, things 
would have worn a different look, I trow.” 

“ I wish but few words with thee, Aileen,” she said, 
standing cold and stern in her marvelous beauty, and 
waving back with her hand the proffered chair. “ Thou 
mayest be faithful in thy professions, — nay, thou mayest 
feel for me a sort of love, even, — but thou hast committed 


3I0NA THE VESTAL. 


291 


a fault which I would not brook from the mother who 
bore me, if she lived. Thou hast set thyself up as the 
awarder of punishments: according to thy will the scourge 
is to fly on whose shoulders and breast thou pleasest. 
From this day thy power ceases. Thou shall have no one 
under, thee ; because thou art a tyrant. Thou shall have 
no privileges or immunities beyond the other vassals of 
Innistore ; and, if this does not suit thee, thou canst go 
away. Where is Panthea the slave 

“ Panthea gasped Aileen, pale and trembling, for she 
knew that inexorable will, or she would have raged and 
stormed and wept. “ She is up there, — in a small room 
under the roof.’^ 

Where no air or light can penetrate, — where her pain- 
racked limbs and feeble body waste on straw ! Tigress, 
I could tear thee and beat thee, were it not — but I have 
learned a lesson. Go this moment with some of thy 
fellow-servants, and bring, — as tenderly as if it were /, — 
bring Panthea here. Lay her on that bed. First shake up 
the pillows and turn back the sheets. There! begone!” 

^‘But the children, lady, — the children!” faltered 
Aileen, almost gasping for breath. 

Shall be removed forthwith to the chamber near my 
own, where I — I, remember — will superintend their well- 
being ; for I trust thee no longer.” 

After they left the room, she walked to and fro, while 
her face glowed and her eyes flashed like the eyes of 
some fierce and beautiful beast of the desert. A new 
life was stirring within her; new light was dawning 
through faculties and attributes but half developed in her 
nature. She began to feel and understand the pleading 
of her soul for better and higher things than she had ever 
known. ‘^A mean Christian shall not outdo me, a prin- 
cess of royal birth, in generosity,” she murmured. 


292 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


Just then the door opened, and they brought in the 
sick slave and laid her on Aileen’s bed. The lady her- 
self arranged the pillows, and, sending for one of her own 
fine linen garments, put it on her with her own hand. 

Bring me wine,’’ she said to her wonder-stricken ser- 
vants. The wine was brought in a silver goblet, and she 
herself held it to Panthea’s lips, who, swallowing a small 
portion, soon recovered her strength. 

Thou art better now, Panthea,” she said, gently. 

May Jesus Christ be thy reward I” whispered the 
slave. 

A deep flush reddened the lady’s face, and tears flashed 
for an instant over the light of her eyes, as she whispered, 
“Be quiet.” 

“Aileen,” she said, turning to her, “fhis is no longer 
thy place. Go into the western chamber, near my own, 
and make it ready for the little ones and thyself. Pan- 
thea, one will be with thee in a little while, who has been 
thy best friend. Hereafter, thou shalt want nothing.” 

Aileen, ashamed, enraged, and humbled, could only 
submit ; but she vowed in her inmost heart that the 
brown girl, as she called Mona, and who she imagined 
was the cause of her disgrace, should suffer for it. Life 
without vengeance would be a burden, she thought, and 
from that hour, moody and silent, she brooded over plans 
of revenge. When Mona returned, all was changed. 
Panthea, breathless and grateful, recounted faithfully all 
that had occurred. 

“ See how soon Heaven flies to the succor of its poor 
children, my Panthea; and, as if to crown my joy, I see 
Lena, the holy woman, coming up from the park,” said 
Mona, gently. 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE LOVER. 

Panthea was asleep when the fisherman’s wife came 
in. The fatigue she had undergone in being removed 
from her cell under the eaves, combined with the un- 
wonted luxuries of a soft bed and fresh linen, had lulled 
her into a deep and quiet slumber. 

“ I am glad to see thee, good Lena,” whispered Mona, 
leading her to a chair. 

“ I have come up from the shore in great haste to-day,” 
said Lena, with a sorrowful countenance, while she lifted 
Mona’s hand tenderly to her lips. I have ill tidings for 
thee, lady. There is a report abroad that the Druids, 
having learned that thou art living and a Christian, have 
sworn to get possession of thee once more, that they may 
wreak a horrible vengeance for what they call thy 
apostasy. It is said that their spies are everywhere. I 
thought this was evil enough; but at the very portals of 
Innistore I heard from Dathy a tale which has curdled 
my blood. Is it true, — lady, is the thing I have heard 
this day true ?” 

“ Dathy ? Tale ? How should I know, good Lena. — 
I, who never leave these apartments ?” said Mona, look- 
ing down. 

“No need, gentle lady, no need to have left these 
apartments to hear it. Dathy says thou hast been 
scourged by Aileen — scourged on thy naked shoulders — 
25 * ( 293 ) 


294 


310 J^A THE VESTAL, 


for the guilt of another,’’ said Lena, almost choked by 
the effort she made to keep back her tears. 

“ Trouble not thyself, my Lena, about idle tales. Thy 
information is not as correct as it might be. As to Aileen, 
— poor Aileen ! — Is she not groping in darkness ? How 
can she see the lures which the evil one spreads along 
her way ? Let us not judge Aileen harshly,” said Mona, 
in a low voice. 

“ Is it true, though, that thou wert scourged ?” per- 
sisted Lena. ‘‘Tell me why, I beseech thee, sweet lady.” 

“ Lena, if on some day in thy life-journey thou shouldst 
see our divine Lord Jesus, faltering along, lame, sick, 
sorrowful, mocked, threatened, and treated like a felon, 
would not thy soul burn within thee to help Him, — to aid 
Him ? Would it not fill thee with joy if thou couldst 
say, ‘ Here, dearest Lord, let me take thy place : thou 
hast suffered enough; thou art fainting on the way: I 
am strong; let me lift that rugged burden from thy lacer- 
ated shoulders, let mine be the flesh that the scourge falls 
on’ ? And suppose he should say, ‘ Daughter, thy offer is 
precious and acceptable to me.’ Consider, my Lena. 
What wouldst thou do?” 

“ Hast thou had a vision, then ?” asked Lena, in a low 
and agitated voice. 

“ No ! No vision ! In yonder suffering one — in Pan- 
thea, who, guiltless of offense, and racked with pain, was 
sentenced to be scourged, I beheld renewed the Passion 
of Jesus Christ. In her I saw a wounded member of 
His thorn-crowned head, and, for the love of Him, in this 
the creature for whom He suffered, I endured the punish- 
ment. Aileen — poor Aileen ! — was ministering to Him, 
although she knew it not. Let us find no offense in her,” 
said Mona, humbly. 

“May God the mighty Father pity her blindness I” 


^rONA THE VESTAL. 


2D5 


said Lena, weeping ; may her present humiliation pre^ 
pare her soul to receive the light of Christ! But I must 
hasten away. I have other tidings to relate. Dathy 
says that yesterday a German noble who is tarrying at 
the temple, and Avho belongs to the schools, saw thee 
here, and asked him many strange questions concerning 
thee. He suspects thee to be other than thou seemest. 
He told Dathy that, if his suspicions were correct, Semo 
would raze the foundations of Innistore to search for 
thee. But, should danger approach, my son Dego, who 
is under-gardener here, and also a Christian, will convey 
thee by secret ways back to the cavern on the shore, in 
which there is a hidden chamber where the sacred ves- 
sels are kept. The good Finian himself showed Dego the 
way of access to it ; and there, he says, thou must fly for 
shelter, and remain until the pursuit and persecution is 
over.'^ 

“Thanks, my Lena! May Heaven be thy eternal 
reward!’^ replied Mona, with the far-away look of one 
who sawjbeyond the limits of human vision. “ But stay 
one moment, good Lena : I must tell thee one thing. The 
Lady Bernice knows my secret 

“Ay,’’ interrupted Lena ; “ but even she cannot protect 
thee from the Druids.” 

“No ; but she can consent for one who understands 
the art of healing to come to Panthea. The holy Finian, 
I have heard, knows the secrets of herbs and medicines. 
Panthea is a Christian. Once, when she was in danger 
of death, I baptized her; but she has had no other help. 
Thou dost understand me?” said Mona. 

“ Yes. I will bear thy message, and send thee word 
by my son Now adieu, my sweet child,” said Lena, 
embracing her tenderly ; “ adieu ! should we never meet 
again, remember me and mine.” 


296 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


Thou meanest, if I should get home before thee,^’ said 
Mona, with a bright smile. “ Well, if I should, forget 
not, O Lena, that it may be some time ere I shall be in 
those unclouded realms where those who have ‘ washed 
their robes white in the blood of the Lamb and those 
who have gone up through much tribulation, ever inter- 
cede for those who wait in hope. Let, then, thy petitions 
be earnest and unceasing for my release : then, Lena, — 
then, my sister, amid that glory ever new, the brightness 
and splendor whereof fill the inhabitants of that land of 
life with rapture inexpressible, I shall not forget thee. 
Farewell, my Lena,” she said, kissing the brown cheek 
of the fisherman’s wife. Then they parted. 

More than once was Mona summoned to the presence 
of Bernice of Innistore, who, well versed in books and 
the subtleties of false doctrines, made use of eloquence, 
argument, and persuasions to shake her faith. But, like 
a rock, it stood strong and steadfast, the very waves that 
dashed against it recoiling back on themselves. Calm and 
gentle and humble, her constancy and faithfulness, the 
good and unanswerable reasons she gave for the hope she 
had, the proofs she brought, simple, clear, and strong, of 
the existence of an Eternal and Almighty . God, not 
only startled the mind of the haughty woman, but when 
Mona, sitting at her feet, talked of Jesus Christ and the 
judgment to come, she trembled, and covered her face 
with her robe. But she still offered libations to Nerf 
Naom, and crowned her statue with cassia-leaves and 
roses; she still went to the temple to consult the Python- 
ess of the shrine of Nerf and throw spices into the 
sacred fires ; she was still pagan, — as much so as a seed 
is a seed until its hidden life bursts forth in flower and 
fruit. 

One night, when all were wrapped in deep and silent 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


29’r 


repose, a sudden clangor burst on the air. The bray- 
ing of trumpets, the shouts of the men-at-arms, the 
shrill outcry of the sentries on the walls, the howling of 
chained beagles, and the clank of bolts and chains as 
the portcullis at the entrance to the castle was slowly 
lifted, mingled together in one confused and terrific din. 
Mona started up. Her heart bounded and throbbed 
almost to bursting. The shadow and bitterness of doom 
fell darkly around her ; the dread, and the weak whisper- 
ing of nature appalled her. She thought that Semo and 
the Druids had come to tear her away to suffer in the 
darkness and mystery of the temple-dungeon, which she 
had heard was far down beneath the surface of the earth, 
having an outlet into the sea. 

So thought the Lady of Innistore. 

So thought Dego, the son of Lena. 

“ Thou must fly, Mona ! — thou must fly this moment!’’ 
exclaimed the Lady Bernice, rushing in, with only her 
loose night-robes around her, while her countenance wore 
a look of wild affright. Kneel not there so calm while 
the Druids enter Innistore.” 

There was a single tap on the door. Mona opened it, 
and found Dego there. 

Lady,” he said, “ come, thou hast time. I will bear 
thee to a place of safety.” 

‘‘ Fly, Mona !” exclaimed the Lady Bernice, snatching 
up a gray woolen mantle and throwing it over the vestal’s 
shoulders. ‘‘Already I hear the tramping of their horses, 
the ringing of their armed heels on the flags of the court 
— but hark ! hark ! That cry ! As I live, I believe it is 
my lord Eadhna 1 They come this way ! Nerf Kaom 1” 
she cried, flying to a window that overlooked the broad 
court below, “ what do I see ? By the torch-light I be- 
hold Eadhna, — my lord, — and Abaris, his brother, who 


298 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


holds aloft, instead of a banner, a cross, — who wears on 
his breast, instead of the harp, a cross, — the Christian 
symbol. And — and — oh, Nerf Naom ! I see on Eadhna’s 
bosom also a cross of gold ! And there, near him, rides 
the young Gaulish count, who also wears this sign of 
sorrow and ignominy and shame. Oh, woe ! — oh, evil 
day I why hast thou come to Innistore she cried, 
wringing her hands. 

What troubles thee, dear lady? Dost thou see aught 
like calamity drawing near to Innistore ?’’ asked Mona, 
lifting her hand gently to her lips. 

He has returned a Christian !’’ she shrieked, throwing 
off Mona’s hand, — “ a Christian !” then fled back to her 
apartments. 

Mona slept no more that night ; with Panthea, who 
still trembled with alarm, she gave thanks to God that 
salvation had come to Innistore, and together they prayed 
that the Lady Bernice might taste of the waters of life as 
they flowed past. 

It was even so. Like the Areopagite who sought 
Paul and returned believing in Christ, so the Lord Eadhna 
had gone to seek his bard brother in the camp of Patricius, 
to exhaust the eloquence of language, — to urge him by the 
hopes of his family, by the grief of his mother, the pride 
of his father, the credit of his house, to abjure these new 
errors, and once more, as one of the royal bards of Erin, 
take his place in the council of the nation and at the altar 
of the temple. Then, if all persuasion and argument should 
fail, he determined to slay him with his own hand at the 
very feet of Patricius. But he returned a Christian, ac- 
companied by the bard Abaris and the Count of Bretagne, 
bringing with him a billet from the holy apostle Patricius 
to the Bishop Finian, beseeching him to go without delay 
to give baptism to the household of the Lord Eadhna of 
Innistore. 


3I0]SrA THE VESTAL. 


299 


Christiaaitj had developed in full splendor the spiritual 
and intellectual life of Abaris. Like a brilliant-plumaged 
bird whose wings, limp and powerless, had kept him from 
soaring up into the sunshine, whose notes, sweet but 
earth-born and earth-bound, had floated no higher tlian the 
cloud-drifts that bounded his vision, he now, healed and 
full of power, soared, as on eagle pinions, far into the 
sunbright regions of faith, where he sang of God and 
Christ in strains of such surpassing harmony that all 
who heard him paused to listen, entranced, first by the 
eloquence of his words, then by the promises of faith, 
which filled their souls, at last, with the treasures of the 
mystery of Divine Love, and a peace which breathed 
over them a foretaste of heaven. Like that fair and 
lovely gem of the Church, Francis Xavier, of a later age, 
Abaris had found at once the perfection and sanctifica- 
tion which so many toil after through penance and tears, 
yet so few attain ; he had solved at once the difficult 
science which, even on earth, so elevates the spirit above 
the flesh that it has rapt visions of God. But Eadhna 
and Clotaire, more fettered by human ties and more 
filled with the thoughts and cares of life, followed at a 
slower pace, — humble neophytes, whose faith, though not 
less strong, was less developed by supernatural graces ; 
who, while they adored in spirit and in truth the Divine 
attributes of the Triune God, felt determined, at what- 
ever cost it might be, to fight the good fight and re- 
main steadfast in Christ. The Lady Bernice stood truly 
between heaven and earth. The eloquence of Abaris 
melted her proud soul to tears ; the persuasions of her 
husband shook her more than she would show ; the gentle 
arguments of the young count filled her with admiration ; 
while the example and prayers, the humility and sweet- 
ness, of Mona, and the patience of Panthea, convinced her 


300 


MONA THE VESTAL, 


that their faith was something more than human, — nay, 
almost holy; but, when half persuaded to yield her proud 
nature to the yoke of Jesus Christ, her human friendships, 
the censure of the Druids, habits of superstition, venera- 
tion for fables, distrust, and the haughty love of power and 
regal splendor, dragged her back, and lifted high barriers 
between her heart and the inflowing of divine graces. 
She was soon the only one of the hundreds who filled 
the fortress of Innistore, who had not asked for baptism. 
Abaris was constantly out with the vassals, in the field, in 
their cabins, in their tents, in their barracks, teaching 
them day and night, forgetting food and rest in his zeal 
for their salvation, until old and young, the soldier and 
the serf, matrons and maids, the aged and little children, 
thirsted for the waters of life ; and again he sought Patri- 
cius to beseech him to send a priest to them, for as yet 
they could find no trace of the Bishop Finian. 

‘^It is strange,’’ said Lord Eadhna, “passing strange, 
that we have no tidings of Finian. Hast thou ever heard 
of a Christian called Finian, Bernice?” 

She paused, — opened her lips, — a deep flush dyed her 
cheeks ; then she said, “ I might deceive thee if I did 
not scorn a lie. I know not where this Finian is ; but 
two of my household, who were Christians before ye ar- 
rived, may tell thee. I have heard the name pass between 
them ” 

“ Two Christians ! And didst thou, sweet wife, pro- 
tect them ?” said Lord Eadhna, tenderly. 

“ Their God protected them,” said she, in a low voice, 
as she turned away to hide a starting tear. 

“ Who are those Christians ? Where are they, Ber- 
nice ?” he asked. 

“One,” she said, slowly, “is Panthea the slave; the 
other is Mona the vestal !” 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


301 


“ Mona the vestal !” cried he, with an expression of 
amazement on his face. 

Mona! Does Mona live?’^ exclaimed Clotaire of Bre- 
tagne, who was sitting in an embrasure of a deep window, 
reading. He threw down the roll of parchment, and, 
springing forward, knelt on a cushion at the feet of the 
Lady Bernice, half wild with emotion. “ Does Mona 
live ? or is it some other Mona 

“ First tell me, sir count, whence this strange interest 
in Mona ? Where couldst thou have seen Mona ? Answer 
me on thy honor as a knight and thy faith as a Chris- 
tian. For I have heard strange rumors,” she said, with 
proud reserve. 

“Never but once, lady, did my eyes rest on Mona. 
I rescued her from a savage wolf, which had been 
driven, infuriate by the dogs, into the sacred grove. I, 
not knowing that its precincts were sacred, followed him 
with my spear, and came on him in time to save Mona, 
toward whom he was springing when my spear cleft his 
skull. She fell insensible, and for a few brief moments I 
held her on my bosom and gazed in her face ” 

“ I am a woman, sir count, and can understand the 
rest. Thou didst love her.” 

“ Yes. I loved her as thou, lady, mightst love a white 
dove, or a lamb without blemish. But Lord Eadhna can 
tell thee how I was warned suddenly, — how in a brief 
moment I learned that, she being a vestal, my love was 
utterly hopeless. Then I heard that Mona had fallen 
into the sea, where I believed she slumbered, until these 
tidings greet me, that Mona lives and is a Christian ! It 
is wondrous ! it is too wild a thing to be true !” he said, 
striking his forehead. 

“ Thou hast never seen her, then, since the first time ?” 
asked the lady, calmly. 


26 


302 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


I have thought of her as dead ! Seen her I No ! In 
the wildest frenzy of hope, I never dreamed of Mona — 
living,’^ he replied. 

And now that she lives, — that ye are both Christians, 
— does thy faith forbid a renewal of thy love?” 

'‘No, lady: our faith lays no ban on a love like mine. 
I would wed Mona.” 

“ Then listen, and learn her history,” said the Lady 
Bernice. And with flashing eyes, a grave brow, and 
proud but truthful air, she told them all she knew of 
Mona, — of her being scourged, of her sweetness and pa- 
tience, and of the meek innocence of her life. Both of those 
brave and noble men dashed tears from their cheeks as 
she proceeded. Then she told, without a shade of boast- 
ing, how she, by her heroic virtue, had protected and 
saved her. “I have heard her speak,” she continued, 
“ of one Finian, — a holy man ; and she may perchance 
give thee the information thou dost desire concerning him. 
But tell me, Eadhna, what need have we of Finian ?” 

“Noble wife, Finian is a Christian priest and bishop, — 
one who baptizes and administers the div’ine sacraments 
of the Church to believevs.” 

“ But Abaris — our brother ?” 

“ My brother is only a teacher : he is not yet a priest,” 
he replied. 

“And what dost thou want with this priest?” she in- 
sisted. 

“ To baptize my children, and those of my household 
who believe in Christ.” 

“My children!” she said, with a bewildered look. 
“Husband, — children, — household, — all Christians I But 
I will leave ye now, and this evening ye shall see Mona.” 

They left the room, and were soon out on the marble 
terraces of Innistore. 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


303 


Shall we fish, or ride ? Dost thou prefer a gallop 
over the moors, or a sail on yon bright blue river said 
Lord Eadhna to his guest. 

“ I love the wave, — the bounding motion, and the 
sound of the tide sweeping along,’’ said the young count. 
“ It pleases me sometimes to think that the same billow 
that bears me up flows on toward my native land, — that 
perchance my mother looks on it, or touches it with her 
beauteous fingers, as she wanders on the shore.” 

‘‘ Let us out on the waves, then. Here, Malcho ! 
bring the tackle and nets down to the shore : we need 
not be idle, while the Shannon swarms with fish,” said 
Lord Eadhna. 


^'HAPTER XIIL 
FOR Christ! 

The Lady Bernice sought Mona. She found her sit- 
ting beside Panthea, singing a sweet Christian lay, while 
her busy fingers plied the needle on some fine handicraft 
which required taste and patience. She arose, and, with 
love and gratitude expressed in every look and move- 
ment, she offered the lady a chair. She would have re- 
mained standing, but the lady drew a low, cushioned 
stool beside her, and told her to sit there. 

‘^And how is Panthea to-day she inquired, kindly. 

^‘Better, noble lady. May the great God reward thee 
for thy kindness to a poor slave!” replied Panthea. 

^'Thou art no longer a slave, Panthea: thou art from 
this moment free 

“Free, lady! Alas! let me still be thy slave!” 

“ What ! refuse freedom ?” exclaimed the lady. 

“ Pardon, sweet lady, but my bonds are precious to me. 
Let me still wear them for the love of Jesus Christ. It 
is all I can do for Him, who has ‘ bought me with a 
price’ that I might inherit eternal life.” 

“ They give life, they give themselves to be scourged, 
they refuse liberty, the sweetest of all, for Christ,” mused 
the lady. “ But it matters little to me, Panthea. I 
wished to do thee a kindness ; but, if thou dost prefer 
bonds to freedom, thou art still a slave.” 

( 304 ) 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


305 


Thanks, lady,” said Panthea bowing her head with a 
smile. 

“ I hoped to have pleased Panthea with my gift ; but 
the news which I have for thee, Mona, will, I know, fill 
thee with joy,” said the lady, fixing her full black eyes 
on Mona’s face. My lord has returned, a Christian; 
the bard Abaris, and a young noble from Gaul, are at 
Innistore, our guests, and both Christians. All of my 
household, except Aileen, are Christians also. 1 stand 
alone !” 

Salvation is nearer to thee than thou dost dream, O 
lady,” said Mona, with sudden inspiration. 

“ When I see one die for Christ, — when I see Nerf 
Naom fall from the height of yonder temple when no 
storm rends the air or convulsion shakes the earth , — therij 
Mona, perhaps I may receive this new faith,” she said, 
with a smile of scorn. “ But it was not for this that I 
came. Dost thou know a Christain priest named Finian ?” 

‘‘I do, lady,” replied Mona, after a moment’s hesita- 
tion. 

- “^^ay! have'no fears for him. My lord wishes a let- 

ter from Patricius conveyed to him. Dost thou know of 
a trusty messenger?” 

“ I know of one who would place it in his hands to- 
morrow at dawn,” she replied. 

‘‘Who?” 

“ Myself,” she answered, humbly. 

“ I will not permit it. The peril is too great. Some 
one else must be found to do it,” said the Lady Bernice. 

“ 1 have to see the holy Finian on the morrow.” Just 
then Aileen, who had lingered at the door, crept through 
the apartment, unseen by any except Panthea, on whom 
she threw a look of hatred and revenge. She had heard 
all she wished to hear. 

2G* 


306 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


Dost thou go alone asked the lady. 

No, lady. Dego, the son of Lena, who is under-gar- 
dener at Innistore, and is a Christain, will guide and 
protect me. He will not be home until night, as he* has 
gone some miles up the shore to gather sea-weed for the 
soil. Hence the necessity that I should be the bearer of 
the letter from Patricius,” said Mona, in her gentle way. 

“ And for what dost thou venture on so perilous a 
journey, Mona?’’ 

“ Dear lady,” said Mona, in her sweet, humble tones, 
^'the Christian priests offer to the great God an unbloody 
sacrifice, the fruits whereof are the real Presence — the 
body and blood, the divinity and humanity — of Jesus 
Christ. Under the forms of bread and wine. He, the 
Divine One, is as truly present as He was on the cross, — 
as He is in heaven at the right hand of the Father ; and 
under these veils we unworthy mortals receive Him, our 
food and our guest.” 

Receive a God!” exclaimed the lady, with a look of 
awe, — “ a God ! I will not believe it. It is profanity !” 

^‘Not profanity, dear lady; for He Himself tells us, 
in the great Psalter of His Avord, that unless we eat of 
His body ^ and drink of His blood we shall not enter 
eternal life. It is His own free gift to His children, 
whose sweet privilege it is to receive it,” replied Mona. 

This is wonderful I But, Mona, these are delusions. 
Thou art deceived, poor maiden. But listen. One day 
a, vestal of Nerf Naom was wandering through the 
sacred grove, when a Avild and ferocious wolf sprang 
on her, and would have torn her piecemeal, but that a 
young, noble, and handsome knight came to the rescue, 
and dashed his spear through the skull of the savage 
beast. The knight saw the vestal, for the wind had 
blown back her veil ; he saw her as she lay senseless on 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


30*7 


Ill’s breast, where he had lifted her, and he loved her. 
Dost thou understand me, Mona?” 

“I do, lady,” she replied, raising her clear large eyes 
calmly to the lady’s face. 

^‘It is well. This knight is now a Christian. He is 
here ; and when be heard that thou didst not perish in 
the sea, but wert living, and also a Christian, he unfolded 
his buried love and declared that he would wed thee I 
What sayest thou now, Mona ? Thou wouldst be my 
equal, — a countess, a powerful and rich lady, and the be- 
loved bride of a noble and generous knight.” 

May the great and holy God reward him evermore 
for saving me from the fangs of the wolf I I remember 
the day well.” 

“ But he loves thee, Mona ! He — this Count of Bre- 
tagne — would wed thee!” 

‘‘ Noble lady,” she said, very gently, I have naught 
to do with human love : I know it not. I would not wed 
the greatest monarch the earth knows, even if such a one 
deigned to seek my hand. I am pledged and plighted in 
a holy faith to a divine Spouse ” And a smile, one of those 
rare and radiant smiles that sometimes flashed like light 
from heaven over her face, now lit her countenance. 

“ Thou art mad I” exclaimed the Lady Bernice, angrily. 

“Not mad, most noble lady. I only mean that, in- 
stead of being a vestal of Nerf, who is a false Deity, I 
wish to be a vestal of Jesus Christ, who is the true and 
living God.” 

“ Per Ethis f They count all things as nothing for 
this same God, — life, love, riches, rank, power, and lib- 
erty !” said the Lady Bernice, in a low voice. “ It seems 
noble, — it is heroic, to say the least of it. But, Mona, 
it is r^y will for thee to appear this evening before my 
lord ; he wishes to question thee. Therefore wash the 


308 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


dye from thy flesh, unfold those rich tresses, and at sun- 
set come to my chamber, where I will see thee properly 
attired for the interview.” 

Lady, might I be spared this said Mona, distressed 
and agitated. 

Spared I No ! I loill it ! — I command it I” she said, 
as she rose, with an imperious air, to leave the room. 

Thou shalt be obeyed,” said Mona, meekly ; and 
may He who has promised to be my help in times of 
temptation, aid me with strength I” 

That evening the Lady Bernice stood waiting alone in 
her splendid chamber. It was hung round with amber- 
colored silk and Phoenician mirrors. Luxurious couches, 
tables made of ivory and silver, filled with flacons of 
crystal and small golden vases containing cosmetics and 
perfumes, caskets of jewels, and other fine articles of 
adornment, stood against the walls. Large vases of 
flowers, an embroidery-frame, a song-bird warbling in a 
gold-wired cage near the window, would have told, in 
plain language, that this was the favorite retreat of some 
high-born dame, even had she not been there in her 
haughty beauty, engaged in the truly feminine task of 
examining a number of splendid dresses which were 
strewed over the couch before her. They were of the 
richest fabric and most costly finish. The last rich tints 
of sunset streamed through the western window, and fell 
with a deep glow around her, and brought out the glitter 
of many a gem in the robes and draperies she handled. 
Looking first at one, then at another, she laid them 
down with a dissatisfied air. At last, under a heap 
which she had not touched, she espied one made 
of white and silver. With a smile of satisfaction she 
hastily drew it out, and, selecting a veil to match it, 
she threw them over her arm, and went toward a mir- 


MONA THE VESTAL, 


309 


ror which overhung one of the costly tables we have 
described. The robe was fashioned of white silk, em- 
broidered with foliage of silver and pearls ; the veil was 
of transparent tissue, dotted with silver and bordered 
with a fringe of seed-pearls. “ This will do,” she said, 
well pleased. ‘‘ This will just suit her strange and won- 
drous beauty. Aha ! here she is now. Come in, Mona. 
See what I have selected for thy adornment. Does not 
this suit a vestal?” she said, laying her hand on the rich 
robe. 

Noble lady !” she said, shrinking back. 

Mona,” was the imperious reply, while those large 
gleaming eyes were bent full on her, “ I am one used to 
command , — and to obedience in those whom I command. ' 
Come hither, then, and let me deck thy matchless beauty 
as it deserves.” 

Without another word or gesture of repugnance, she 
approached, and yielded herself submissively to the 
lady’s humor. It was a new form of suffering; and, 
breathing the name she loved so well, she stood silent 
and patient, — silent and patient, like a lamb which is gar- 
landed with roses and spangled gauzes and gay ribbons, 
to become a victim in the shambles. So Mona stood 
while the pr^ud dame of Innistore arrayed her in robes 
of purity and splendor. With her own hands she braided 
back the dark, flowing tresses, over which she threw the 
veil and clasped over it a band of pearls, fastened the 
jeweled clasps that secured the dress, then stood off to 
view the effect. Never had she seen anything half so 
fair; and, lifting her hands, she whispered, ‘‘ Oh, Ethis! 
how more than beautiful !” With downcast eyes, Mona 
stood like a white-robed spirit watching over the dead, so 
pale, so motionless, so holy was her aspect, — her won- 
drous beauty half veiled, half disclosed, her hands folded 


310 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


like two lilies on her bosom, and her eyes looking down, 
darkening her white cheeks with the shadow of their 
black fringes. 

Bat her thoughts were not there, — no, not there. 

“ Come ; my lord and his guest await us,’^ said the 
Lady Bernice, sweeping along in her superb beauty, fol- 
lowed by Mona. They looked like the unclouded moon 
and the evening star. Mona’s heart was troubled. She 
felt like a bird entangled in the fowler’s snare. In her 
poverty and humble obscurity, she had experienced the 
sweetness and joy of suffering ; her soul, undazzled by the 
glare of life, had bounded lightly forward, and each cheer- 
ful endurance had brought her nearer heaven ; but now 
* temptations, siren voices, the glitter and magnificence of 
riches, distracted the even tenor of her progress. Not 
that she yielded to them, or that she even feared them : 
they only for a fleeting moment diverted her mind from 
its calm and joyous contemplations ; like a breath of 
wind they passed over her soul, rippling and agitating its 
pure depths, until the bright images reflected therein 
from heaven were hidden, — only hidden, — not erased. 
She would have yielded again with rapture to the scourge, 
but she would fain have been spared this. 

Lord Eadhna and Count Clotaire were ^conversing to- 
gether in low, earnest tones when the Lady Bernice and 
Mona came in. The last bright glare of day still lingered 
in the west; and in the uncertain and translucent shadow 
Mona looked like an ethereal being who had lost her way 
in the realms of space and paused a moment in this isle- 
world to rest. In graceful lines and rich folds the white 
gleaming draperies fell around her, giving out here and 
there a flash and glow as they caught the lingering day- 
beams. 

“ Welcome, child of God, our friend and sister,” said 
Eadhna of Innistore, with gentle reverence. 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


311 


‘‘Welcome, Mona,’^ said the Count Clotaire, while his 
heart bounded and his cheeks glowed with the fair and 
chaste hopes her presence awakened. But a feeling which 
was impelled by some interior power, and which he could 
not define, held him back: he did not approach her. 

“I owe thee many thanks. Lord of Innistore,’’ she said, 
very gently, and with sweet gravity, “for the protection 
of thy house ; and to thee, noble stranger, blessings and 
thanks, for the poor life thou didst so courageously 
save.” 

“ Mere thanks, Mona, are a poor reward for such an 
act,” whispered Bernice. “ Thy words are as cold as 
marble.” 

“ I fear thou hast forgotten 7?ic, Mona, in the terror of 
the incident ; but I — thy image has never left me a 
moment since the hour it occurred,” said Count Clotaire. 

“Nay, gentle sir! I could” — began Mona; then she 
paused, lest some word might fall to wound. “A transi- 
tory glimpse could not insure remembrance! But my 
deliverer has not been forgotten. I have prayed for 
Heaven’s most precious graces for him. If I seem un- 
grateful, pardon me ; for I am not skilled in the language 
of the world.” 

“In the presence of these thy noble friends and mine, I 
beseech thee, Mona, tell me : could I not win thee to a 
warmer feeling than gratitude ?” said the young count, 
earnestly. 

“ 1 grieve to pain thee,” said Mona, whose face grew 
very white. “ Heaven knows, if 1 dared, I would spare any 
word which might wound thee. But I am not my own ! 
My feelings, my hopes, my loves, sir count, are no longer 
mine to give; they are pledged to One from whom I 
would not withdraw them to obtain the empire of worlds, 
of such priceless value is the reward I hope to win.” 


312 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


Count Clotaire bowed his face and covered it with his 
hands. Strong emotion shook his frame; they could hear 
his quick-heaving breath, and the sharp throbbing of his 
heart, all was so breathless and still. 

Mona,’^ he said, at last, in low^ and tremulous tones, — 
Mona, when I thought thou wert slumbering beneath 
the sea, thy image, like a veiled angel, led me to aspire 
after the perfection of morality and a pure height of 
philosophy. Now that thou art living, and, though lost 
to my love, a Christian, a servant of Christ, even as I 
wish to be, thou shalt help me heavenward. Thy words 
have gone like a keen, sharp blade through my heart, 
hewing asunder fibers and chords that bound me in sweet 
memories and bright visions of hope to thee; but — but — 
go : 1 would not rob Heaoen of its vestal I My love for thee 
was deep and strong ; but from this moment I give thee 
up, — my offering for the love of Christ,^’ he continued, as 
he approached her, and, bending on one knee, lifted her 
hand reverently to his lips. 

May Christ be thy reward evermore !” she murmured, 
while a single tear rolled over her pale cheek. 

'' Vex Nerf Naom ! It is enough to drive one mad!’^ 
cried the Lady Bernice. ^‘But hark, my lord! there is a 
great tumult below !’^ 

Just then one of the esquires — now a Christian — rushed 
in, with terror depicted on his countenance, and, in hurried 
and confused words, informed the noble company that the 
Druids, with a large company of the officials of the temple 
and men-at-arms, were on their way up to the presence- 
chamber. With a single cry of alarm, the Lady Bernice 
threw her strong arm around Mona and bore her swiftly 
through a side entrance into a circular apartment, which 
was hung round with curious tapestry representing the 
ceremonies and processions of Nerf. Lifting this, she 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


313 


pressed a spring in the oak paneling under it, which slid 
back, giving them ingress to a dark and narrow passage. 
She paused an instant to adjust and secure the spring, then, 
without speaking, ran swiftly along, winding and turning, 
until at last, out of breath, she paused, and whispered. 
Thou art safe, — but this night, Mona, thou must away. 
Tarry here. After nightfall I will bring Dego, the fisher- 
man’s son ; fly with him, and, if it be possible, seek the 
safety of Finian’s cave until the pursuit is over.” Then, 
folding Mona to her noble and generous heart, she re- 
turned, and, letting herself through the secret door with 
great caution, she went to confront and defy the Druids; 


27 


CHAPTER XI Y. 


HEAVEN RECEIVES ITS VESTAL. 

It was past midnight when the Lady Bernice returned 
with Dego. 

They are infuriated ; they rave and threaten us all 
with dreadful vengeance,’^ she whispered. “ I defied 
them to the last ; but now the party is dispersed. Those 
who remain at Innistore sleep ; the Druids have returned 
to the temple ; and this is the hour for thy escape. Thou 
hast been betrayed by a Saxon stranger, Mona — may 
curses light on him. But see : here are a flask of wine 
and some wheaten cakes. Gather up thy robe, it is thine, 
— my gift; fasten it under thy girdle. Now wrap this 
gray mantle, which I have brought, around thee. Ere 
long thou wilt see Finian : here is the letter from Patri- 
cias — curses on him I it is he alone who has brought 
such woe on me.^^ 

“ I cannot even thank thee, lady : words fail ; btit there 
is One who is watching, and who will reward thee ten- 
fold. I shall see the holy Bishop Finian. Once more, 
through all perils, I must see him, to partake, if God wills 
it, of that mystic feast, which giveth life to the soul. But 
for this, I would not fly I’’ 

Xot fly ! Nay, Mona, do not provoke me to spur thee 
on with the point of my d agger, exclaimed the lady. 

I suppose this insane love for Christ would make thee 
willing to be slain by the Druids before my very eyes 

( 314 ) 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


315 


My life is His ! Eternal thanks ! My life is His I He 
has given it ; let Him recall it when it suits His holy 
will/’ she said, in her low, musical tones. “He calls for 
thee, lady. He, the Lord and Master of Life, awaits 
humbly at the door of thy heart. His divine head is wet 
with the dews of night, while He implores thee to receive 
salvation. He points to His wounded temples. His 
streaming forehead. His torn hands, His lacerated feet. 
He opens the purple wound in His side, to prove that the 
love which bore such torments to save thee will not rest, 
will not be satisfied, until thou art His ; for, alas ! He 
who with his breath can create worlds, cannot save the 
meanest of the creatures He has made, without their free 
consent. ” 

“ Silence, Mona I” cried Bernice of Innistore, in a voice 
of anguish. “ I will hear no more. I would not be a 
Christian, to be the mistress of the universe. Begone 1 
This passage will lead thee, Hego, through a subterranean 
way, far out beyond the walls of Innistore.” 

“ Panthea, dear lady ! Panthea I” whispered Mona. 

“ Panthea ! I shall have her killed if thou dost not be- 
gone. Take this key, Hego, and on the morrow bring it 
to me,” she said, half wild with excitement, as she turned 
suddenly, and, folding Mona to her breast, impressed a 
kiss on her forehead. ''Never fear for Pantheaf she 
whispered ; and Mona felt two warm tears drop on her 
head. And they parted, — the lady to her silken pillows 
and sleepless couch, Mona to her midnight flight. 

After walking an hour or two, they at length found the 
end of the subterranean passage. Hego adjusted the key 
to the lock, and it turned easily. In another moment 
they were out beneath the gray and silent heavens, in the 
solitude of the night, where only the rustling wind among 
the foliage of the forest, and the far-off moaning of the 


316 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


sea, were beard. Pausing a moment to rest, and lift 
their hearts to God, they sped along toward the distant 
shore. There was a calm smile on Mona’s cheek. Over 
her spirit, like the ebbing and flowing of prisoned tides, 
holy thoughts descended and ascended, until, in sweet 
and close communion with Heaven, she thought not of 
the perils of the way. 

At last they reached the shore. The broad white sands 
and rugged cliffs were before them. The first gray light 
of dawn spread dimly over the scene. The morning star, 
like a patient saint, pale and obedient, awaited amid the 
shadows for the bright day-beam to kindle and then 
absorb its waning fires, in a greater and more perfect 
glow. The ocean tides were flowing in, rising, and moan- 
ing, and wailing, like Time, inexorable and strong. Still 
lost to outward scenes, in blest anticipations, Mona 
neither saw nor heard the scenes around her, until a shrill 
cry and a heavy fall startled her away from the bright 
visions which Hope and Faith were weaving about her. 
She turned quickly, and saw Dego lying lifeless on the 
sands, where he had fallen, transfixed by a bearded 
arrow. She held his head ; she felt his heart : all 
was stilled forever. Then she saw dark forms issuing 
from the woods, tossing their arms, and uttering wild 
cries, as they rushed down toward the shore. She saw 
Semo. She heard the frightful howl of the beagles as 
their keepers unleashed them. It was enough 1 Clasping 
her hands over her head, she sprang, like a hunted fawn, 
up over the slippery rocks, along the narrow ledges, over 
a steep and precipitous path overhanging the sea, until 
at last she gained the cavern. She entered its friendly 
arch, and was flying back into its deep recesses, when she 
discovered that it was not Fiiiian’s cave, but one which 
was connected with the mainland by a narrow ledge of 


MONA THE VESTAL, 


3n 

rocks, which, except during a very short interval when 
the tide was out, was covered with surf and foam. Al- 
ready the billows were dashing their spray over the ledge, 
and Mona knew that ere long the roaring waves would 
climb higher and higher, until they reached and filled the 
cavern. Escape was impossible, death inevitable. In a 
moment she understood it all, and, folding her hands 
meekly together, she knelt, and in hope awaited her 
transition. She had not expected it so soon ; but, now 
that it was so near, she felt that the promises of God 
were not vain. Strength and hope brightened together 
in her soul, and, looking beyond this mortal life, the 
thought of death’s brief agony dismayed her not ; neither 
was she afraid of the mystery of a new and unknown life, 
because her trust was in Him who is mighty and strong 
to deliver. 

The Druids and their pagan followers found themselves 
baffled, but exulted that her doom was sealed. They 
knew the cave well. It had served their purposes more 
than once, when some dark deed was to be perpetrated at 
midnight, which they desired the sea to w^ash off from the 
earth. Slow and mighty flow^ed in the reverberating bil- 
lows; but swiftly flew the news of the peril of the Christian 
maiden, and, by the time the sun arose like a golden flame 
amid the purple and gold of the orient, the shore, the cliffs, 
the heights around, were thronged with living beings. All 
the Christians who heard it hastened thither. The Lord 
of Innistore, the Count of Bretagne, with men and ropes, 
flew to the rescue ; but a glance convinced them that no 
human arm could save her. The Lady Bernice, on her 
black barb, attended by her maidens, was also there, 
stern, pale, and full of an anguish which she had never 
known before. In unclouded splendor shone the sun 
on the strange scene. The sea-birds, with light gleaming 


318 


MONA THE VESTAL, 


on their white wings, whirled and shrieked amid the toss- 
ing spray. The wind tossed the leaves of the trees with 
a joyous motion, and from the rolling lands above flowed 
down the mingled odors of newly-mown hay and the 
scent of wild flowers, while the summer birds warbled 
their clear, wild songs as they floated in the sunshine. 

Presently a loud wail arose above the roar of the 
surges. It was the cry of a mother over the slain body 
of her first-born ; it was Lena, the fisherman’s wife, who, 
hearing of the peril of Mona, had rushed out from her 
cabin, without kirtle or hood, with her strong-limbed 
boys, to try and save her. But on her way she stum- 
bled and nearly fell over the stark corpse of her son, — 
her Christian child ! 

‘‘Is he thine?” asked the Lady Bernice of Lena. 

“ Mine ? Mine ?” she asked, roused by the question. 
“He belonged to God. He gave him. He has taken 
him. The mortal has put on immortality, and, through 
Jesus Christ, inherits eternal life. Thanks !— thanks I 
Then no more grief, no more tears, Lena, over this cast- 
off garb of clay ; but, grateful that thy course is finished 
and the race won so early, my son, I will give thanks 
that thou hast passed to the regions of hope, to the Land 
of the living.” Then, stooping over, she kissed the pale 
lips, and, covering the body with her mantle, she knelt 
to pray for his repose, and Mona’s safe transit to the 
eternal rapture of the Beatific Vision ! 

“A mother !” murmured the lady, — “a mother rejoices 
that her child is with Christ! I can conceive that a mis- 
taken heroism might suggest all else that I have seen ; 
but this, — a mother^s loce offered up with joy to their 
Deity, — it surpasses all I have yet witnessed ; for that 
love is stronger than death itself.” 

While this was passing, the wild billows were dashing 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


319 


in with great velocity. The wind rode in on the waves 
with a thundering and bellowing that shook the earth 
with its reverberations. The water was now within a 
foot of the cavern, beneath whose arch the vestal of 
Christ knelt, while the sun, slanting into its depths, rested 
about her calm, pallid face, and white, glittering robes, 
like a glory. The wind had torn the fastenings from her 
hair, and it flowed back, with her veil, from her beauteous 
countenance, which already wore the ineffable repose of 
eternal peace ; and she looked like an angel watcher amid 
the storms of life. As the billows rose nearer and nearer, 
her head in deep humility sank lower on her breast; and 
while her soul wrestled with its last foes, — the pleadings 
and throes of nature, — a torpor crept over her frame. Her 
passing away would be sudden and bright; the billows 
would engulf her for a moment, then bear her up, free 
and rejoicing, to that shore which is washed by the waters 
which flow from the Throne of the Lamb. 

In vain Semo directed his archers to aim their swift, 
bearded arrows at her breast, as she knelt, a bright mark 
for their keen eyes ; vainly flew the sharp flints from the 
slings of the soldiers ; idly were sped the long, glittering 
spears from the stalwart arms of the men-at-arms. None 
reached her, but fell ringing against the rocks, and dropped 
without a sound into the boiling waves 

Like a maniac, Dairene now ran shrieking and tearing 
her gray hair along the shore. The crowd made way for 
her ; for she was a vestal of Nerf. Her wild shrill cries 
rose piping above the roar of the bursting billows, as, heed- 
less of peril, she climbed, tearing out her nails against 
the sharp rocks, until she reached the highest ledge of 
rocks, and stood panting and sobbing over Finian’s cave. 
The rocks which contained Finian’s cave ran out parallel 
with the ledge on which Mona, in the terror of the 


320 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


moment, bad taken shelter, when, confused by the dim light 
and the pursuit of the Druids and their minions, she ran 
up in her vain endeavor to reach a place of safety. The 
two caverns were nearly opposite to each other, and the 
two ledges, running out seaward, in the form of an angle, 
leaving a narrow strait for the sea to enter, commanded a 
full view of the shore. A man was seen to enter Finian’s 
cave, and after a short interval reappear, and take his 
station on the rocks beside its entrance. Then, while 
all were gazing, the holy bishop in his sacerdotal robes 
came forth and stood in full view. He spoke to the 
man, Lena’s husband, who uttered, between his hands, 
such a shrill, piercing shout that Mona heard it above 
the howling of the waves, and started up. The fluttering 
of Dairene’s veil first arrested her attention ; then, with a 
look of sudden hope, her glance was lowered, and she 
saw the aged priest of God, standing with outstretched 
arms, to give her the last absolution. She could not 
kneel ; the waves had reached her waist ; but she bowed 
her head once more, after making a gesture of joy by 
lifting up her hands toward heaven, with a smile of 
rapture. 

' Then she lifted her eyes up no more, until another shrill 
signal reached her. She understood it now ; and, when 
she looked up, she saw the holy bishop standing, hold- 
ing up high, in view of all, a crystal case, framed in gold, 
which contained a consecrated Host! Every Christian 
on the shore, inspired with courage by the sight, knelt, 
humbly adoring. The Druids, gnashing their teeth with 
rage, felt awed, and were silent. The very beagles ran 
whining and crouching about the feet of their keepers, as 
that Presence, which was lifted, a sign and promise to 
those Avho believed, flowed out in solemn and mighty in- 
fluences over those whose souls still slept in the shadow 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


321 


of death. Mona saw it. She stretched out her arms, while 
a glow like as of the brightest sunrise lit her face. Then 
they could see no more ; for the spray covered her like a veil, 
and a huge billow sweeping in with a mad roar engulfed 
her. Those on the shore heard a wail and shriek, they saw 
the fluttering of white torn garments, they saw something 
plunge from the rocks down into the sea, and they knew 
that when the vestal of Christ yielded up her life to the 
relentless wave a vestal of Nerf Naorn perished with her. 
It was over. The Druids and bards, with their vassals, 
were turning homeward. The people stood or knelt in 
groups on the shore. The Lord Eadhna and the Lady 
Bernice, with Count Clotaire, whose countenance wore 
the hue of death, stood together, awaiting the good 
Finian, to whom they had dispatched a message, beseech- 
ing him to come with them to Innistore. Lena and her 
sons were bearing away their dead, when, lo! a sound 
like thunder rolled out upon the calm morning air, a 
despairing wail went up from the Druids and their band, 
and Semo was seen to fall prostrate to the earth. All 
turned toward the place whence the sound issued ; and 
Bernice, who had seen one perish for Christ, now saw the 
great marble statue of Nerf Naom tottering on its high 
pinnacle on the summit of the temple, she beheld it topple 
and reel, then fall, crashing through the roof, and buiy- 
ing beneath its own fragments, and the ruins, the holy or 
inner shrine, and the statues of Nerf, Ethis, and Latona. 
With clasped hands she stood rigid and pale, gazing up 
into the empty air, where but a few moments before the 
statue of Nerf Naom had stood, an image of beautiful 
strength ; then, with a deep sob, she flung herself on the 
earth, offering her life, her liberty, her state, her love, her 
children, her all to the true and living God. When the 
holy bishop, from whose eyes tears still flowed, reached 


322 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


the spot, she ran, and, heedless of those who gazed on 
her, throwing off her pride and self-love, she knelt humbly 
at his feet, and, lifting the hem of his garment to her lips, 
implored baptism. 

When the Druids lifted Semo from the earth, they dis- 
covered that he was dead ; and five of their number, with 
three bards and one learned ollahm, returned, and, pros- 
trating themselves at Tinian’s feet, sought to be initiated 
into the mysteries of the creed of the Christians. 

As the throng gathered around the holy man to hear 
his words, Ulric the Saxon, with a fiendish smile, rode up, 
and whispered in the ear of the Count of Bretagne, — 
Did my eyes deceive me, or was that maiden who 
perished in reality Mona the vestal ?” 

“Ha, Ulric!” shouted Clotaire, directing his hand 
toward his dagger, “ thou here ? But no ! — rest, if thou 
canst, in thy iniquity. Yengeance belongeth to God. 
She whom thou hast so basely betrayed — Mona, my first 
and last earthly love — is beyond thy malice now ; and 
the thought that she is interceding for thee — ay, even for 
thee — stays my arm. Away, now, nor ever molest me 
again with thy presence.” 

“ What lambs these Christians become !” exclaimed the 
Saxon, with a sneer; but he saw a kindling light in Clo- 
taire’s eye, a bracing up of the muscular form, and a 
quick upheaving of the chest, which warned him off in 
time ; and, after a gesture of mock courtesy, he galloped 
away with speed toward the temple. 

That night the noble young Christian wandered alone 
along the shore. It was cloudy and dark, and a deep 
calm had settled on the sea. He thought of Mona; he 
wished that the waves might wash her body to the shore ; 
in the tumult of his grief, he wept and prayed by turns, 
until, thinking of her as one of the radiant virgins who, 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


323 


clothed in raiment like the sun, surround the Throne, giv- 
ing gloiy to Him who sits thereon, his sorrow was turned 
to joy, his weeping to gladness. Then, kneeling on the 
lonely shore, he vowed himself to the service of God, and 
offered up at the foot of the cross Ms nature, Ms Miman- 
ity, Ms soul, Ms life ,— free offering, a holocaust, to Him 
who suffered thereon. 

Come hither, Christian stranger; behold a marvel- 
ous sight,^^ said a man, who, wrapped in a dark mantle, 
had come near him, and stood unnoticed and unseen. I 
am a Christian: therefore have no fear.^^ 

Clotaire of Bretagne followed him till they came to a 
place so closed in by rocks that one could scarcely enter 
the narrow opening leading to it. The tide was out, 
leaving a calm, deep pool, and they penetrated the gloomy 
recesses of the rocky path which surrounded it, the strange 
man leading, until a faint, luminous appearance in the 
distance guided their steps. 

There it is: let us approach it,’^ he said. 

They did so, and saw floating on the shallow water, as if 
in calm slumber, the hody of 3Iona the vestal. Her robes 
were folded around her, and her hands crossed on her 
breast in sweet composure. A smile rested on her lips, 
and a look of unutterable calm on her brow. A fair lu- 
minous halo flickered around her head, revealing every 
lineament of her face. They lifted her gently : they 
dared not leave her there another hour, lest the waves 
should bear her out to the fathomless sea. Far up on the 
shore they hurried with the sacred remains ; and while 
Clotaire watched beside them, filled with awe, and giving 
thanks to God, Lena’s husband, the fisherman, went to 
Innistore to inform the good Finian of the event. 

In a few years, a large and splendid church was 


324 


MONA THE VESTAL. 


erected near the palace of Innistore, beneath the altar of 
which, in a shrine of silver, Mona the vestal slept. 

Aileen had betrayed her ; but, repenting, she was con- 
verted to Christianity, and became the most humble and 
austere of that household, all of whom were so truly de- 
voted to God. Panthea became her most tender care ; and 
it was a touching sight to see her watching and serving 
one whom she had so persecuted. The bard Abaris, Clo- 
taire of Bretagne, and a number of converted Druids and 
bards, retired to Innisfallen’s Isle, in Lough Tore, wh^re 
in cloistered aisles and solitary cells they sought per- 
fection as the safe road to eternal joys. 

Our task is done. Let those who doubt the narrative 
of Mona turn to the old archives of Erin, where they 
will read of greater wonders than any which we have re- 
lated, not -only of numberless saints, but of holy and wise 
kings, Christian sages, and heaven-inspired bards, whose 
memory and lives the Church cherishes like a sweet odor, 
who were, while living, her strength and succor, and who, 
amid the glories of the better land, are her fairest jewels. 




THE END. 








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